No Tears Just Fears
by BrokeMachine
Summary: Don becomes someone else after having been missing for almost a year. Little he actually says, but his actions speak louder then words. Might become graphic in later chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: OOC, OC, violence, very violent, sexual situations, non-con, dub-con, drug use, mentally disturbed author, a lot of typos and over all grammatical errors, misuse of Don.

No Tears Just Fears

Chapter 1

"Everything he does, he does with hidden intentions."

"So, what are you telling me? That this goes beyond his suicidal tendencies? That despite everything you've done to him, he has something brewing deep inside?"

"In so many words. Your son, he's very, very smart, manipulative, and unfortunately selfless."

"Selfless. Of course he's selfless." Dad Eppes was beginning to lose his patience. "What did you expect he was going to be like? Like you, selfish and cruel?" He yelled, getting up from his chair. "This is a waist of my time. I should have never come."

He could see Dad Eppes walk away from his seat across from him, hesitant and desperate. He wanted to help his son, wanted to heal him from the harm and trauma caused by his own hands. Hands that would do it over and over again if given the chance. "You weren't listening to me, Mr. Eppes. If you want me to tell you in what state your son's psyche is, then take a seat. No one, and don't take offence by this, but no one has come to know the inner workings of your son's mind like I have. You'd understand if you were standing as close as I was."

"You sick bastard." Dad Eppes hissed out.

"Do you want to know or not?" He purred out with the finest of all his poker faces on.

"What do you want in return?" Alan asked skeptical of the man's intentions. No one that dirty ever offered anything in return for nothing.

"I can see where your son get's his brains." He could see that Dad Eppes waited for his request, steadily being drained of the little patience he had for the man across of him he spilled his first. "Would it be too much to just see your son once more?"

"Out of the question. My son is off limits." Mr. Eppes said, a disgusted look suddenly playing on his features.

The sick creep released a low laugh, gurgling in his own hysteria. Confused in the other man's humor, Dad Eppes remained silent. "What a difference time makes. Just a few months ago your son was my personal buffet with no limits to what I could have."

It seemed like Dad Eppes refused to understand, his brows furrowed and his arms crossed.

"Whatever I wanted. Whenever I wanted." He spelled out for him. Leaning back on his seat, hands still cuffed to the table he once again began speaking. "Did he ever tell you of the time I decided to take him to an underground fighting arena? That night was one of the most exiting I've ever had." He said licking his lips as he thought back to that specific night lost in his memories until, his eyes finally made contact with those of Mr. Eppes. "I caught him shooting up."

Dad Eppes eyes disconnected their connection, his eyes dropping down. A pained look within them at hearing what the other man was saying. "That's not true." He faintly said in disbelief. "He wouldn't."

"After I forbid him from doing so." He said with a tone that caught Mr. Eppes attention nerving his already strained emotions.

"You're lying." Dad Eppes accused. "You made him take all those drugs. You're the one who made him."

He released another sickening laugh haltering another one of Mr. Eppes angered irruptions before it even started. His confusion left swimming within the echo of the other man's hysteria. "Did Donny ever say, word for word, that I made him take his first taste? That it was me who forcefully pushed that needle up his arm or did you just assume it was me?"

Thinking back, Alan had never heard Don say those words. Never accused the man of forcing him into them. He just simply wanted to believe that that's how it happened, because Don would never, ever do that. Never.

Or… was that once upon a time…

"Because if he did, he lied to you."

Dad Eppes sat back down on his seat, his legs refusing to work for him any longer.

"How they grow up so fast, right Mr. Eppes?" He mocked and he felt like a champion when Dad Eppes darkened eyes fell on him, his sight murderous. "One moment, his lying under you begging you to stop and the next his on top with the priciest drug money can buy running through his veins fucking the brains out of you."

"Shut-up you sicko." Alan yelled, tears swelling in his eyes, and even managed to surprise himself by smacking his fist harshly on the table keeping the two men apart.

The other man lips spread upward. Alan relaxed across of him, his hands up to his lips, crossing each other as he tightly held them their. His cheeks becoming streaked and wet. His shoulders shook and his face dropped forward as his hands came up to cradle it within his palms covering the sight of cascading tears. So many tears. So many held. So many to shed. Not one freed in front of any of his son's. Held prisoners in his own body. He had to be strong, strong for his son's. Stronger then he'd ever had to be before.

The other man sitting across the hurt man knew he shouldn't feel so good about it, but even if Don was no longer in his possession, even if he no longer hurt Don physically, he still manages to hurt his family with more force then he ever managed to do to Don. He could see Dad Eppes breaking in front of him. How he relished the moment and how he wished it was Don who he broke so.

It took a moment for Mr. Eppes to control himself. He sat up straight, taking a lung full of air before the muscles in his face were forced to relax and he looked back at the monster in front of him, eyes red with little tears remaining to fall.

"I'll give you anything, anything you want, money, drugs, anything besides my sons… just tell me how to stop my son from killing himself." Dad Eppes said with just the right amount of desperation in his voice to make the other man purr.

The man once again let himself lean back on his seat, taking Alan's offer in consideration. Spinning it in his head so to use it to his advantage.


	2. Chapter 2

Author Notes: Sorry I took forever for an update. I really am. :(

To answer Cissyaliza's question – I do publish as I go and sometimes have chapters written ahead of time and publish them according to my own schedule. And sometimes I write future bits when they are fresh in my head and save them for later chapters. But I am afraid to say that I don't have this fic completed yet, but I have an outline of how I want this story to play out and the only thing I have to do is write it out. Which is remarkable because I'm usually not that prepared. I know I don't seem to be shining with confidence but bear with me.

Chapter 2

4 Months Earlier

He could feel him watch him. How his father kept such a close eye on him now that he was back and living at home, in the bedroom he grew up in. It was a strange feeling laying there. On his old bed and his old sheets. So familiar, but everything was so different, now. The way people treated him, and talked to him and even looked at him. Like a child, fragile and broken, weak and helpless.

If only they knew the things he had done. They wouldn't look at him like that. They wouldn't look at him at all. They'd run from him. So far, far away.

And despite all of that he suspected they feared him. Feared what he would do – to himself. He could almost laugh at the idea. They hid all the sharp objects around the house from him. All the things that were left in his reach were electrical razors and table knives and even those were left sparingly. His fingers slowly traced the scars on his forearm, over and over again.

He knew his father was watching. He knew he feared him now that he was back. His eyes said it all. It always hurt when he was a disappointment in his parent's eyes. The feeling never got old, and it never failed to sting. That never changed, no matter how old he got.

At coming home, he wasn't what his father expected. What his father had expected he wasn't sure, but it wasn't what walked through that door. He gave it his all to seem like he hadn't changed, like he was that same Don that existed before he vanished. He just needed to be stronger. Not let them know that whatever happened to him changed him.

He hugged the pillow his arms wrapped themselves around closer to his body, moving his head more comfortably on it. His sight calmly falling in the sunlight's path. His brown eyes blinked as the fading sun slowly made its way down. Another day gone. Another one lost and faded into his memories. Bland memories that would never compare to what he's lived through.

"Don," He heard his father say from behind him, just where he remembered him last standing. "You need to eat or you won't get better."

_Better_? Don thought. Pondered. _Better…_

He heard his father's footsteps move in close to him and felt the edge of his bed sink in. "Donny?"

Rolling over on his back Don turned to face his dad, waiting patiently for him to say whatever he needed to say.

"I'll make you anything you want, you just say it." His father offered.

Don gave him a small smile. He thought for a moment before saying, "Coffee."

"Decaf?" His father questioned with a small gesture of disapproval edging his features but left it so, not bothering to express how much he didn't favor his son's choice especially at such times of the evening, with such a fragile state his son's body was.

"Sure." Don said.

"I'll go make it for you and I'll bring it right up with some cake. So, don't you worry." He said getting up.

"I'll go with you." Don offered sitting up and pushing himself to the edge of the bed. Stopping only when his father moved in front of him keeping him from standing.

"Oh, no, Donny. That's fine. You don't have to." Alan said and Don looked up at him and for a second he saw his young son. The one that use to inhabit this room years ago.

His first. There's nothing like the first love, first kiss - the first child.

His birth will always be special to him. The day Don was brought to this world. It changed everything.

Alan cupped his son's chin in his hand. Looking at him. Observing him. He couldn't believe he had almost lost him. Never again would he let that happen. Never again would he leave him out of his sight.

"Dad?" Don said sounding a bit worried his brown, tired eyes looking up at him causing his father to snap out of whatever bubble he had let himself be carried away by.

His father gave him a half smile at thinking that his son was worrying about _him_ when it was he who should be sounding so worried. "C'mon, lets go." He said finally agreeing, moving away from his son's way and let him follow him downstairs.

.

Don sat quietly around the table as his father poured them both coffee and served them each a piece of cake.

Taking his seat, Alan watched as his eldest dug up spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his cup, more sugar then Don ever use to use, bony hands handling the spoon with surprising delicacy. Hands that didn't suit him. And arms so thin it same out of place hanging from his son's torso. Torso so small and fragile, something that Don was only as a new born such a long time ago.

Alan heard the front door open and his youngest call out before the door slammed closed.

"Hello." Charlie continued calling out as he walked into the dinning room spotting both his father and his brother sitting at the table.

"Hey." Don greeted his brother like he usually did, not bothering to look up from his cup as he stirred the content within it. "You want some coffee, Chuck? It's decaf." He offered with a voice so… Don… it gave Charlie an appearance of sudden disconcertment.

Charlie and his father made quick eye contact, each one spawning the same look of concern and wonder, before Charlie responded, "No, thanks," placing his books and bag down on the table. Silence falling around it.

The silence dragged on longer then Don was comfortable with. Stopping his stirring he looked up at Charlie and wasn't surprised to find his brother' eyes on him as if he was one of his equations. Pretending not to notice Don pushed the little plate with the piece of cake on top towards him. "Sorry, I know you hate being called that. Peace offering?" He offered.

The thick scars running up Don's stringy arms were revealed under the dinning room's light and Charlie gulped heavily at seeing them. Quickly he snatched his sight to the side, shying nervously away from them, his eyes now on his father who looked back at him with the same nervousness. "No, thanks, Don. I've already had something on the way over here. Actually, I'm feeling tired. Long Day." Charlie pathetically excused. "Goodnight." He said before heading upstairs.

Don's eyes calmly fell to his cup. He knew how uncomfortable he made everyone feel. He was the pink elephant sitting in the room. But he was trying not to be. God, was he trying.

Alan watched his son. His expression so calm. So controlled. It made his guts turn uneasily in his stomach. Was he always like this? So unreadable? No… It use to be that he could tell when something was wrong with his son. Now… now he just never knew.

"Don." Alan began, his son's eyes landing on his. "How are you doing?"

"Okay." Don said naturally, picking up his mug and taking a drink from it.

"Okay?" Alan asked back and Don shook his head in agreement. "Are you sure?" Alan continued sounding concerned. _But how?_ Alan would ask himself internally not being able to comprehend because deep down he just couldn't make sense of it. Because he felt like his son should be in tears or in a deep, hollow depression or lost and confused - but he wasn't. He was okay. Okay?

"Yeah." Don said and when his father's eyes didn't have that relief he was hopping for he laid a hand on his father's. "It's over Dad. I'm just glad I'm home."

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

I'll try to update sooner next time. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed my previous chapter. Really sometimes I feel that's what gets this boat going.

:)

Chapter 3

"Okay, Donny." His father said, getting up from his chair and leaning over to plant a kiss on his forehead. Don accepted it, giving his dad a smile back.

He watched as his father disappeared into the kitchen. He had so much to do. It was anything but over. He was getting along so well. Things where playing out how he had in mind. Until, he was _saved._

He tried not to take the word so literal. After all he didn't want to be _saved_. He was beginning to think that that's exactly how it was going to end, that that was how he was going to finish – out in a blaze of fire or something like it at least. He had come to terms with it a long time ago.

But he was home now and already he was finding it hard to regain his rhythm and finding especially harder to get a hold of the means for his preexisting goals. He could see the third side of this war. The ones fighting for what had been taken from them with the little tools the paranoia of their freedom left them. It was practically none existent, underground, silent, and scarce. He was now a part of it secretly making plans knowing that neither his family nor colleagues would approve if they found out what he was doing but it was easy to become rogue when all other efforts were ignored by people he considered his friends. They saved him and they wouldn't listen to him. Listen to what he had to say, tell them what he had done, what he's still capable of doing and what he has become. He had come to conclude they really didn't want to know. The twists and breaks you have to do to someone before they become unrecognizable. The things someone has to do to themselves before he can't even recognize himself. It was difficult for them to listen. He could see how it had affected them. How it pained them as if it was them who had gone through what he had and not him. It was better if he just kept it to himself. He sees that, now. No one wants to know the makings of a monster.

He tried not to take anything anyone said or did so literal. The words _safe_ and _home_ made everything he was planning to do even more difficult. He had to remember where he was now. He had to remember who he was putting in danger. His family, he still loves them and they don't deserve this pain. What he'd do to take it away from them. It shouldn't have happened to them. They didn't deserve it. He should have never come back. He should have never been saved.

_1 Week Earlier_

"_No, you have to let me go." his body squirmed and thrashed as hands tried to keep him down. He was furious. He could feel his temper being tested. He wanted them away, gloved hands and invasive medical equipment, all of it. "Let go… Let go…" He warned._

"_Don, you're going to need to stop moving. You'll pull all your IV's out." He heard her but he refused to listen until someone listened to him._

"_No, he's… let me… he's…" He continued but no one gave him the chance to speak as more hands came to aid._

"_It's okay, Don, you're home-" he knew they were trying to help "Don, we're not going to hurt you-" but he wasn't the one who needed help "We're going to have to strap him down-" they said above him "-before he hurts himself." He had something to say and he wished they give him the time of day to say it._

"_No, he's going to…" He tried to say, he desperately pushed at the hands holding him down away so they'd release him. "He's going…" He strained to speak louder so his voice was heard above the rest. Hands cupped his arms and legs to keep him still and his voice was lost within his struggle._

_They spoke, but not to him._

"_He's probably in shock. It's not uncommon for cases like his. He probably thinks we're going to hurt him." The doctor said as Megan shook her head in comprehension._

_He reached a long slender arm towards Megan trying to get her attention, her distance remaining just outside of his grasp. "No." He released furiously as a hand pushed at his shoulder forcing him to lie down._

_He took a moment to breath._

_Before, he could have taken the army of seven nurses around him who were succeeding in wearing him out with no problem. But now he just felt strained by the physical power they had over him – pressing into his already exhausted will to even keep fighting them off. Knowing there was no way he'd win. His breathing was deep and rushed and his heart raised, he forcefully swallowed back a yell of desperation that nagged at him to be released, pushing himself to remain calm. His adrenaline had run high in the excitement of the rescue mission that got to him a day too late and a year too early. He could feel his body giving out on him, bending under their force. How he wished for a portion of strength he had once possessed. Now, all his body was subdued to were trembles and quakes his remains had come into an unwanted possession of as he internally begged for things to change. And out of the corner of his eyes he spotted David and Colby keeping their distance like children during their parents' heated arguments. He was sorry that they had to witness what happened. And he was sorry for what he did. He didn't have the time to tell them that. They looked back at him with confusion in their eyes and within their obvious state of weariness they seemed objectively betrayed, making him wish he would have made time to say that he was deeply sorry for the harm he had inadvertently exerted. Their arms crossed over their chests their faces guilt ridden as if their feelings weighed at there consciousness but they struggled with them, rejecting them, pushing them to the back of their minds because they had somehow managed to convince themselves that there was nothing else they could have done and that they had made the right move despite it all._

_He turned to look back at Megan. Her petite frame looked bigger from where he was as if he had shrunk and everyone else had grown. He felt small within their grasps – minuscule in comparison to them. He couldn't figure out how they had grown, his eyes looked up at them, vibrant bodies, unblemished souls, fighting spirits - fighting for what had already been lost. Didn't they know?_

_They looked the same but his eyes perceived them differently. Strangers?_

_He wanted to say her name but the word got caught in his throat. Was it really her?_

_Megan was cut from view as a nurse stepped in his line of vision waving a syringe in front of him and Don was suddenly renewed with power; energized by his impulsive need to keep fighting._

"_What exactly is his case like?" Megan asked the doctor._

"_Malnourishment, obviously, abuse, again obvious but to what extent I don't know. At least I won't know for sure until we run some tests."_

"_Yeah, okay, but unofficially to what extent?" Megan impatiently continued looking for the bottom line._

_The doctor twisted her lips thoughtfully before hesitantly saying. "Well if the report is correct and he was in human trafficking, it would be extent. It could be just the bruises, but my guess is…"_

"_What, doctor?" Megan leaned slightly over, making sure to have optimum hearing of the doctor's exact words after the doctor's voice began to lower in volume by her own insecurities._

"_I don't know for sure but… he could have been, as in many cases like his…"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Sexually exploited."_

_Megan visibly winced, anger and sadness lining her features._

"_But I'm sure you have already deducted as much. I won't know for sure until…"_

"_Get off of me." Don yelled loud enough to catch the attention of all the agents and medical staff around him._

"_Don, Don, you're going to have to calm down." Hands were getting rougher and he began to fight harder. At this point David and Colby had to come in to help the nursing staff. David came to his side and held Don by a shoulder and arm, finding it disturbing in it self amongst the whole situation how his hand had so easily wrapped its way fully around his slender limb – his finger tips touching the tip of his thumb. He tried no to think about it. _

"_Don, please calm down." He said. Don's eyes had landed on David's hands and he tugged at his arm. "Don, please," David begged._

_Don suddenly looked up at David with an eye of madness, disturbing his senses, almost causing him to stumble back a few steps. For the moment Don stopped struggling as the words left his lips in a whisper loud enough for only him to hear. "I'm the monster, David. Do you understand what I'm saying? I hurt them. I can hurt you, too." – David furrowed his brows, his sight falling to a significant marking on Don's shoulder blade. It was a symbol on his flesh drawn up in welts. It finely put together the initials A.V. as a single capitalized 'N' with a line drawn below the N's risen tip – a branded excuse for his abuse. He gulped hard, his throat becoming dry; his mind fighting to argue two oppositional points between the words Don spoke and the thing's his eyes clearly witnessed. – "I want you to help them. I… kah killed… them." Don said with a struggle as his eyes watered, drowning in a look for forgiveness. "I'm the monster." David shook his head disbelievingly. If anything he was the one that should be sorry. He owed Don an apology for not finding him sooner._

_He knew Don had been through enough. Almost a year he was gone. A year at the hands of a true monster. A year his family spent thinking he just might be dead. And now he was back, bruised and scarred… he was the victim. Why would he possibly be looking for forgiveness… unless he really believed he had done something wrong?_

"_David," He said without a falter, without any doubt, commanding as if he was never gone. "I killed them."_

"_Stop it, Don." David snapped wanting to sound firm and confident just as Don was but his voice betrayed the deep red panic he felt. Don was beginning to have a frightening affect on him. By the way he looked and the way he acted, and the things he said. Twenty-three bloody suits. "No, Don. You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault." He tried again. _

_Don's eyes ran dry, hopeless. His brown orbs looked up at him with hollow, bottomless sadness that made a chill run up David's spine. "David, please, listen – I –" he spoke but David just kept shaking his head. "David, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –" he tried to mend the harm he caused, he wanted to tell him everything but his thoughts came out jumbled as he quickly attempted to speak. "Pease, listen – I'm the monster – I killed – And I'm sorry, but – I didn't want this…" _

"_No, don't, Don. You did what you had to do." David said trying his best to reassure his friend in his concussed state. There was a gash on the side of his forehead. He had seen when he got it. That bastard had him pinned; smacking him around like a rag doll and it took all the will in him not to shoot at the unarmed man. "Got it?"_

_Don looked back at him as if wanting to disagree with David and it nerved him a bit. He bit onto his lip and watched as Don shrunk away from him. "Don," He began again meaningfully tightening his hold on his arm so to make everything more truthful – his physique making it hard not to think about how easily breakable he appeared. It just couldn't be true that this body could do such damage. "You did what you had to do. Okay?"_

"_David, I…" Don began again and David already knew what he was going to say and something about it made him want to snap at him, stop him before he manages to completely convince himself, before he manages to completely damage himself._

"_Okay?" David said a bit firmer cutting Don off, giving him a small shake as if to make himself understood but Don's eyes said it. He didn't believe it. But with one nod of the head Don finally gave him the assertion he needed._

"_Good."_

_Don hissed out in pain as one of his wrists was strapped down by his side, pinching his skin. Instinctively he turned to look, his eyes stopping as a syringe motion towards his arm. "No," he said twisting his wrist within the strap, attempting to avail it with no success. _

"_You're safe, now. No one's going to hurt you." The staff tried to comfort but Don just kept fighting._

"_NO. NO. NO. NO. NO." __He yelled louder every time, pulling away as the needle's tip approximated its distance._

"_What are you doing? Get off of him!" Don heard a familiar voice. He turned around to see it was his father. He felt a sudden relief run through him. He was just the person he needed to make the doctors, nurses, and FBI agents holding him down back away._

_His father rushed to him and took him into a tight embrace. He shook, and trembled, and rambled in his ear. His own cheek had become soaked but they weren't his tears. Was his father crying?_

_Don should have felt happy he was finally in his father's arms and not in someone else's but now he feared his father was never going to release him._

"_You're safe, Donny. Don't worry, you're home. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm so sorry… God, I'm so sorry. But I'm so glad you're finally home."_

"_Dad," he said, hoping his father would listen to him. "Dad,"_

"_I'm sorry, Donny, but you're safe, now. We're going home. I'll never let you out of my sight, again…"_

"_Dad," he continued trying to get his attention by tugging at his coat, trying to pull him away so he could see him face to face but his father's hold on him was unrelenting._

"_You can't take him home just yet, Mr. Eppes." The doctor said and his father turned to face her fiercely._

"_He's my son. I say when I can take him home." He said angered and he was merciless at releasing the load on them._

"_He needs to remain here a bit longer to perform some tests. Look, Mr. Eppes, he needs to stay at least until he's stable. He's malnourished and we need to see what kind of mental state he's…"_

"_We're going to need Agent Don Eppes to answer a few questions." Two officials cut the doctor off and Alan Eppes now stared at them menacingly. "For the…"_

"_No, that will just have to wait. All of it." He demandingly yelled._

_Voices erupted from all around. The hands on Don became loose around his limbs – he had stopped fighting a while back – he felt as the little prick was made on his arm. There was little he could do but let them have what they want._

He looked up at the clock hanging from the dinning room wall.

8.33pm.

He should be heading out right now if he wanted to catch the early birds specials.

He pushed his seat back and stood in time for him to hear the swinging door creak open from behind him. He turned around to see his father peering at him from behind the door, his eyes wide as if waiting for him to make his next move.

"You're not going to finish your cake?" He finally asked.

Don looked down at the tiny plate then back up to his father. "Nah, I think I'm tiered. I'm just heading off to bed now." He said. His father looked him up and down with alarm, trying to read him but he had become good at lying. Stepping in from the kitchen, he approached him wrapping his arms tightly around his son.

"I love you, Donny, so much. Don't forget that." He said. Practically demanded.

"I won't." Don responded a bit surprised by the sudden gesture, cursing himself for wanting to jump back when he saw his father approach. Was he still scared?

His father hugged him tighter, expecting Don to wrap his arms around him, too, but Don never did. He just let them hang stiffly to his sides, his hands in fists. He tightly closed his eyes and bit on his lip.

God, it hurt. Being back. He wasn't prepared for this. He wished he could tell him not to worry about him, that everything will be okay because he'll be fine but that would just be lie.

He bit his lip harder as his father hugged him tighter. It was so hard to keep his composure when he was standing this close to his father.

By the time his father released him and he had disappeared into the kitchen he was drained, exhausted and left feeling disoriented.

Making his way upstairs he tried to gulp down the knot in his throat but failed. He rubbed at his eyes making sure there were no tears that might have accidentally escaped and quickly brought his hands down at hearing a creak come from down the hallway.

He turned to look both directions but he knew where it had come from. It came from the last door all the way down the hall. He stood there for a while, waiting. He was there, hiding, he could tell – hiding from him, like a child from a monster.

Having waited long enough he went ahead and slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The first thing he did once alone was step on the scale.

127lbs.

It was too little. There just wasn't enough of the person he used to be there.

He sat at the edge of the tub wrapping his finger around his arms – measuring.

His index finger significantly overlapped his thumb. No wonder his father couldn't keep his eyes off of him.

Or was it the scars running up his arms everyone kept staring at. He can only imagine what they must think of him. If only they knew…

He let his hands slip under his shirt feeling every deep hollow in between his ribs. _Where was he?_

He pinched his skin feeling only that – thin elastic stretches of skin.

_Where was he?_

The balls of his fist where to his eyes. He felt shaky, lacking control. His hands slipped up to his head as his head fell to his legs. "Be brave." He told himself. "Be brave." He grasped fistful of hair and pulled until the feeling of wanting to scream his brains out was gone and only his rushed breathing escaped his lips.

_11 Months Earlier_

_He was so cold. He couldn't remember how long he had been there – beaten and soaked under his own blood._

_He shook violently, the taste of metal in his mouth, cheeks stained with tears that stung every raw opening of the flesh on its path._

_He had fought – for everything he had with everything he had – but they won and he was left with nothing._

_A door creaked open and he hurried away to the furthest wall. He was so scared, he trembled and whispered incoherent words._

"_Congratulations, pig," Don recognized the voice to belong to Aaron Valcic. They had crossed paths a couple of times before this. Don had arrested him for his suspicious entanglements with the murderer of a witness in a case concerning human trafficking. He was Don's leading suspect but the court only saw the lack of proof the case provided and with Valcic set free and no other way of pinning it back to him the case was nothing but a dead end. At least until further proof surfaced, but it never did and the file remained filed under dust at the back of his mind. _

"_I've decided to keep you." He continued._

_Don stayed away, an arm over his head, protectively, afraid that Valcic was going to start lashing out on him, again._

_Feet rushed to him, a rough hand in his hair, tugging harshly till his head was pulled back so his face was met directly with Valcic's. He whimpered under his touch, his breath had sped and his eyes had shut tightly from the pain._

"_You should be happy, bitch, my friends wanted you dead. Said you would cause too much trouble because you're a fed." He said waiting for a reaction that never came. "Why aren't you grateful? I saved your life."_

_Don said nothing. He kept his eyes shut – his hands were to the other man's chest, trying to keep him away. His breathing was shaky, he was frightened and his mind was jumbled. He could hardly gather any thoughts together past the pain coursing it way around his body and the perturbing fear the man's presence set upon him. He had gotten way to many hits on the head. All he could really see were the bruises, everywhere. On the walls, on the floors, on his bare and naked skin, and though his eyes where closed he could still see them at the back of his lids._

_A fist was to his face and his head slammed onto the wall next to him hard from the collision. "Beg!" He heard from above him. "Beg me to keep you, you fucking bitch."_

He was gone.

No one noticed when he slipped out through his bedroom window.

He had locked his bedroom door so no one would come in to find it empty.

The night was a crispy, fresh smothered by fog.

A gloomy time to have a stroll around the neighborhood.

But he had some business to take care of.

No one noticed he was gone.

Author's Notes: Not much on the shedding of light in this chapter. I'm writting in tongues. Sorry for making everyone suffer for it. But there are more chapters to come.

Please don't forget to review.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Four Days Earlier_

_Don looked out the hospital windows. His expression tired and vacant. Every once in a while he'll blink but outside of that no one seem to reside inside of him. He looked like a man who had lost it all besides the shell of a ghost that he had now become._

"_Don," he heard his father say. "You have some visitors."_

_Don turned to look. Through the door walked in Colby, David and Megan. They seemed nervous and apprehensive. He didn't blame them, he felt the same dread they were probably feeling when they had walked in. The feeling was mutual. This wasn't exactly how he imagined coming home would be like – awkward looks and nervous smiles like they seemed to be doing now. It somehow ate away at him. He was finding it hard to remember who he once was when they did that. He gave them a smile back but if anything it was out of courtesy._

_He had done what they said he should do. He let them keep him here, plugged in by tubes and monitors, examined and tested, pricked and prodded. They asked questions and he gave answers with sufficient details to close his case. And after everything he was left with nothing left to give, and when everything fell silent he wondered when he was going to be freed._

_David was the first one to approach. "How are you feeling?" He asked._

"_I can go for a drink." Don said with a small snort. No one else seemed to find it amusing. They looked back at him with saddened eyes making Don's smile fade. This wasn't how he imagined coming home would be like. His sight fell down to his stringy hands as he squeezed at the thickness of his thighs. He knew the vision of his frailty didn't escape anyone's eyes. He wondered what else they could see…_

"_Listen, Don," David began but didn't say anything further. He went silent as though the words he previously had in mind to say weren't delicate enough for Don's ears and he was now stuck rethinking them. But Don already knew what he was going to say - Don's eyes remained glued to his hands, a heavy feeling in his chest (anger?) - Why else would they have come here carrying those dreadful faces with them? "Seeing as your full recovery is going to take some time your return to work will be postponed six months." David finally finished._

"_Then what?" Don said releasing a sigh and turned to look out the window. He knew they wouldn't. He didn't need to ask why. Just one look at him and it was enough of a reason for them not to throw him back in duty so pronto. If only they knew the strength these arms still held, the damage it could still make._

"_Well, if they think you're well enough to come back then they'll give back your badge and gun and you'll be ready for business."_

_Don contemplated what he had just said. Six months and he'll have his gun and badge back catching bad guys again. Six months and everything will be back to normal. Six months he'll be piercing wholes into flesh, again. Six months to step into that same Don routine he used to tread so well on. In six months, if he's better. _

_But six months is too long to wait. Six months could ruin everything. Six months and he just might turn. Six months and it just might be the end of him. He could feel his chest broil, rip, snap just by thinking about it. That heavy weight in his chest grow bigger. He looked over at his monitor, the markers going up a few numbers, an insignificant difference – not enough to catch anyone's attention._

"_Six months, huh?" was all Don said before falling silent leaving everyone to fidget nervously in his slow, quiet decent from the conversation._

_Megan circled around his bed and stood just before Don, her form disturbing his view of the window. "I'm sure you'll find something to do meanwhile." She said with her nurturing tone and laid a hand on his but it worked only to distress him even more. The way she and everyone treated him was disgusting to say the least. He refused to see what they saw, he refused to believe he was sick and needing nurturing. He jaw tightened its threshold and his sight had come to rest on her holstered gun at her hip – _Six months _– he thought – and removed his eyes from it before anyone had a chance to notice. His eyes shot to his father. He stood at a distance; his left arm crossed over his stomach while he held the other fisted over his mouth observantly peering back at him. He didn't need to look at the others to know they were all looking at him the same way. His sight finally came up to meet Megan's. She smiled at him. _

"_I'm sure I will." He said giving her a smile back._

He had traveled ten miles from home. At this neighborhood you could find whatever you needed you just had to know where to look.

The streets pulsated with music - its sound was light blending into the night's sleepless rhythm - its people grouped around it kick starting the week in its relaxing environment. Though from a distance it didn't seem like it, most people here meant well and minded their own business. Despite they're outer appearance they maintained civil with one other, never getting out of hand, never looking for trouble. But then there were the ones who looked for that in specific, in every corner of every room - and they were the ones he was looking for.

He turned the corner of a block and already he felt a casting of shadow on his back. It had become quieter, darker, more sinister as he walked forward. He could hear a pack of drunken laughter and for a second he doubted himself, feared the pain. But he knew it hurt more if he didn't try. He pulled his hood over his head and gulped down his trepidation.

With all his years working for the FBI he had learned to tell the difference between someone who's minding his own business and someone who's setting up shop on the streets. His eyes caught sight of a man leaning against the brick wall of a 'Kwick Stop Shop' convenience store. The man's orbs would bounce around from one person's set of eyes to another as they walked the night streets, fishing for clientele.

The other's man's eyes finally came to meet his own and they connected. Wordlessly, the man got up and turned into the near by alley and Don followed him into the darker shadows. Don didn't even have a chance to catch up when he was pulled to the side, hands on him, holding his arms back while other's roamed his body over the cloth of his attire. For a second his fear became palpable, his heart had sped and he pushed for some resistance but quickly his mind obligated himself to stay calm. He couldn't let his imagination get away from him now; he knew very well what was happening. There was a difference in their touch, though rough, it remained mutual.

And just as fast he was pushed towards the wall, his back brusquely coming to contact, the hands had ceased and he was left feeling ruffled. He tugged at his jacket, leaving it unzipped – he had nothing to hide – making himself presentable again.

A man stepped out from the group of seven men before him, making himself seen. He was the oldest among the rest, his belly stuck out past the circumference of his belt and he bore the receding line of a man much older then he appeared to be. Don eyed him waiting for him to make the first move.

"Standard procedure," was the first thing he said, excusing the behavior of his lackeys. "You just can't be too sure. For all I know you could be a Five-O or worse a Fed."

Don had to bite back a smirk, the remark laughable.

The man eyed him up and down, studying him with a look of disgust – or that could just be how his face was naturally. "But by the looks of it, you're neither." He finished saying.

Somehow the joke had lost its appeal.

"What can I do you for?"

"I need a gun."

"Protection or looking to do some damage?" he asked faking his curiosity, looking him once over.

"Do you have one for me or not?"

"Of course –" the vendor said with what appeared to be the beginning of a smile followed by a loaded remark but Don didn't give him the chance to finish.

"Good. That would be what I'm looking for. Prefer it to have strength don't care if it doesn't make it light weight. Throw in a silencer and some ammo and don't think about selling me some old cheap piece of crap. Believe me when I say I'll know if you do."

The other man released a laugh that gave away his nervousness. "Sure thing princess." He said turning around taking a couple of steps forward. "Come back tomorrow and I'll have the perfect toy for you."

Don shook his head. "No, not happening. Don't got anything for me, that's fine but you wont catch me coming around here again."

The merchant made a sharp turn on his heel. His eyes had narrowed. His arms had crossed and there was an angered polish in his eye. "Four-thousand and I just might be able to pull something from thin air."

"Two-thousand."

"Three-thousand."

"Show me."

"You first."

Don smiled, pushed himself off the wall and began to cut his way through the men. A hand was suddenly wrapped around his arm and he was hauled back against the wall. He released a groan that could have passed as a growl and angrily tugged at his arm, immediately setting it free.

A push of cold metal on his cheek and he turned to look. His eyes betrayed no feeling of fear as he saw the tip of a gun pointed at him. Instead his eyes darkened and his chin fell forward while keeping his sight balance on the man threateningly keeping the gun pointed at his forehead.

The merchant's confidence wavered and he took a step back, twisting the gun in his hand so the handle was now pointed at Don. "Kidding. No bullets." He said releasing a nervous smile.

Don immediately took it, running his fingers through it, feeling out the weight against his hand. God, how the metal felt good on his skin. He twirled it around his finger and pointed it straight at the other man's forehead just like the other had had it pointed at his not to long ago, immediately seeing a reaction in the other's eyes. Just the look he was aiming for. "No bullets." He reminded him then added. "I'll take it." He stepped off of his shoes pulling a zip-lock bag from each one, the plastic bags holding seventy-five Jackson's each.

Snatching the bags, the merchant threw it at his lackeys and the men didn't waste any time as they counted the content.

The merchant approached as Don slipped the gun at his hipline behind his back and immediately stiffened as he felt the merchant's distance uncomfortably close.

"Do I know you?" He asked making Don snap his head up but as he looked at the other he knew the other man didn't have a clue of who he was. His eyes had that puzzled look that gave him a face of chronic constipation with all the thinking he was doing.

"Ever bin to Oklahoma?" Don threw out there, throwing the man off of his suspicions.

The man looked even more puzzled. "No." He responded.

"Than we've never crossed paths."

The man nodded and was close to dropping it when his eyes once again came to meet his with that look of disgust which Don was beginning to suspect was really a disguise for his look of deep contemplation.

"So, you' from Oklahoma?"

"It's all here." One of his lackeys said and he didn't even bother to turn back as he neared much closer.

"I have a cousin there. What town?" It was easy to tell the man was bluffing about having a cousin in Oklahoma but Don was pretty sure that wasn't the point.

"Can't tell you that."

"Can't tell me or wont?"

"Wont."

"You've got lots of balls and you seem to know your fair share of guns. What are you? Ex-Marine? Army?"

"Hunter."

"Hunter?" The other man asked suspiciously.

"Oklahoma."

"Like rabbits and shit?"

"Yeah, like rabbits and shit." Don agreed.

"What are you doing around here?"

"Shopping." Don said as he pushed his way through, but then he was shoved back. Don grabbed onto the hands that had just pushed him by the wrists squeezing tight, twisting until he had the man by a disadvantage. And there was that disgusted look on the other's face mingled with a bit of fear and mischievousness. The merchant looked down to his painfully twisted wrist in Don's hand as if there was a peace of gold there and Don let go feeling the burn of the revelation his little move had given the man. "Oklahoma, huh?" Was all the man had a chance to say before Don once again pushed his way through making his way past the lackeys and back into the open street.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Just an apology. Sorry, for all the abuse I'm putting Don through. Really, I wish I can beat the bunny that gave me this idea dead but the damn thing is still bouncing around. The worst part is that there's more to come… OMG I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell. But really this is not a happy fic. *sigh*

To everyone who has reviewed, Thank You Bunches! They help get my fingers typing.

Chapter 5

_He let himself plop down on the king size mattress. His shoulder's ached, his arms hung from him as if they were made of pure steel. He felt tiered and dizzy. He had lost count on how many days he had spent there. He assumed he was in the middle of his third week and they have yet to feed him anything but water. _

_ He moved with extra strain and his strength was diminishing. His guess was that that was the point. Get him to be weak. Get him to be less of a fight. Less of a threat. They had achieved it. _

_ It had become that much of a chore to get up and walk around without feeling the lightheaded, dizzying spell of starvation. It had become an impossible struggle to fight of the arms that conquered him every night. A sickening chill ran through him at the thought of it. He tried not to remember how he got the bruises though the constant pain coming from his abused flesh served only as a reminder. Might as well have his hands tied behind his back, it would have proven to be as debilitating._

_ His eyes searched the room once more, looking for that detail he missed, for that loop hole in this warped universe - for the doorway to his escape. But he had come across everything. The locked door that Valcic used freely everyday as he came in and out of this torture chamber he referred to as _their_ bedroom. The barred windows which gave him a splendid view of a beautifully kept garden outside but only that. The only other door that didn't lead into a closet of one sort or the other was the bathroom and it held the same promise for an escape as the firmly welded bars standing outside of the windows._

_ Days when he actually managed to wear himself out he would sit like he was now and imagine someone busting through the large doors of the luxurious bedroom and save him from this hell. Sometimes he'd be too worn out to even think and somehow he'd sleep through the day only to be woken back into the same nightmare – back into Valcic's world of captivity._

_ He was slow and precautious at standing up. He stilled for those few second his body took to get readjusted to the new height. Finally feeling comfortable enough to walk he led himself to the stretch of windows and leaned against its thick frame. It was a dream. The landscape was draped by a thin mist that thickened as the land extended as far as the eyes could see. A rainbow was painted across its majestic layer. The green was deep and rich in its serenity but its imagery brought no air of sweet relief to the storm brewing inside him. This location was the torturous abstraction of this insanity. At the end it didn't make a difference when Valcic came walking in through the door imposing his will on him._

_ The knob to the door turned and Don got up in a panic, pushing himself to hide behind a tall dresser. He bowed, his sight blacked out, his hands were to his knees as he took in deep breathers. He looked up in time to see Valcic drop some of his belongings on a round table a yard or two from the doorway with a smile stretched over his face, his green eyes on him staring back in amusement._

_ Don straightened against the wall putting up his front to match Valcic's natural daunting exterior but Valcic's eyes were dismissive as they fell from his sight and ran a hand through neatly combed golden locks._

_ "Hello, Don. How was your day?" He casually asked as he loosened up his tie._

_ Don didn't utter a word. He wouldn't dare give Valcic the commodity of engaging him in his picket fence conversation. He didn't deserve that luxury._

_ That didn't faze Valcic whatsoever. He continued his walk over to the bed and let himself fall over it with and exhausted groan. "For me," he continued. "I could use a break. I'm sick of all these entrepreneur bullshit. I worked hard to get where I am for them to destroy me with their stupidity." He said angrily to the ceiling. He let his hands come up to his eye as he rubbed them sleepily. "I gave them till Monday to fix it before I start slashing throats." He yawned then laughed seemingly to himself then turned on his side to face Don. "You should have seen the looks on their faces when I told them if on Monday I come in and I'm not satisfied with their work I was going to make sure none of their children get into college. It was as if I literally tugged at their leashes." His smile was huge by the time he was done talking but it faded slowly at seeing Don. _

_He looked tiered, sad, and dismal hiding in that corner as if it provided any real sanctuary. "We've been invited to a gathering tomorrow night." He announced as he stood and made his way over to a little personal bar full of liquors and wines._

_ Don watched with interest, expecting to hear more about this gathering. He was already running a plan in his head._

_ "Don't get ideas." Valcic said over his shoulder. Don suppressed a scowl._

_ Valcic finished pouring himself a scotch on the rocks and calmly made his way over to Don. He could tell Don was keeping indomitable and contemptuous. He would be lying to himself if he said that little fight inside him wasn't pleasing to see to say the least. But everyone has a breaking point and he had no doubt his stubbornness was going to make his fall twice as hard. _

_He leaned in, stretching an arm past Don's head to lay his hand on the wall behind him, cornering Don with his body. He stared Don down from his five inch superiority and in return Don glared back at him irately trying his hardest not to show how his proximity frightened him._

_ Using the back of his hand he caressed Don's bruised cheek giving him a half smile of discontentment. The ice delicately jingled in the glass cup with Valcic's movement. An unwanted knot swelled in Don's throat by his caring gesture, the irony of it not lost in him. It could just be that he wants to leave this sadistic man's house and go home. It could be his hunger talking. It could be that his emotions were finally catching up with him, but he refrained from showing as much._

_ "I wish I would have remembered that before giving you these."_

_ Don snatched his head away from his touch as if it stung. His remark was maddening and it pushed red hot lava through his chest._

_ Valcic removed his hand from the wall and gripped Don by the chin, forcing his eyes back on him. "Don't get angry. How else am I supposed to teach you how to behave?" He asked taking a drink from his glass, wincing at the burn, and placed the side of the cool material against Don's bruised cheek._

_ His words were like nails to a chalk board. Don hissed at the pain at the side of his face. "Don't touch me." He growled out and pushed Valcic's hands away._

_ Valcic took a step back and looked Don up and down with a wide distasteful grin. Don nervously swallowed. He felt dread or regret but wasn't sure witch or why._

_ He took another drink. "You ready to try again?" He asked making Don shuttered by just the tone of his voice._

_ Valcic made to move in closer but just as sudden Don drastically flinched away. "You'll regret it." Don said his eyes wide. He looked frightened but his threat spewed out of him like a bitter promise._

_ Valcic eyed him for a while. He's done this before with other playthings but the taste of this experience left him with a high of emotion he had not felt before. They were just chemicals in his brain, he knew this. They meant nothing. But somehow the threat had remained feeble while the chemicals posed catastrophe on this fling. That was good enough to piss off the night._

_ He took in a breath and relaxed his shoulders making a mental note to visit the spa sometime next week to rid himself of the knots on his shoulders._

_ He tried again – his fingers delicately touched the skin on Don's neck as they slowly slid down. "Do you think someone's going to come and save you?" He said softly as his eyes followed the path his finger took on the pale skin. He didn't need to look up to see the emotion in Don's eyes. He could feel it under his touch, in his chest, through his heart. "They'll never find you. No one's coming. You're mine now. You'll just need to get use to it."_

_ Don tried to push off his hand again but this time Valcic pushed back. His hand was quickly up to his neck with startling force, his nails dug into his skin as his harsh whisper blew into his ear. "No one's coming."_

…

The gun was still in his hands. He'd been looking down at it the entire night. The sun rose all the while he remained in suspended animation with the metallic object tangled in between his fingers. It was so quiet – day break – in his room, but the noise coming form his head was deafening.

A knock on his bedroom door, he could hear the knob trying to turn. It was still locked.

"Donny, it's me." His father spoke through the door. "Are you up yet?"

He turned to look at the digital clock sitting next to his bed on the night stand.

7:17am.

"Yeah." He heard himself say.

"I made breakfast."

"I'll be down in a minute."

He heard the creaking of the wood as his father's footsteps departed. His eyes were back down to the gun in his hands. He wrapped it up in a cloth and stuck it under the mattress.

He slipped into his nightwear, a T-shirt and pajama pants, before making his way downstairs.

…

"How did you sleep, Donny?" Alan said over his shoulder.

Don had been watching his father work, waiting for the question, keeping acute and responsive.

"Good." He pored himself his second cup of coffee and was now taking a drink from it. "Where's Charlie?" He finally asked and his father visible stopped his movements and though his expression was hidden Don knew why he had fallen silent.

"He left already. You know your brother if he isn't doing one thing he's doing another." The words had left him in a nervous rush and his hands sped as he finished drying the rest of the dishes.

What he really meant to say was – _he left early today, again. He's avoiding you. He can't even be in the same room as you. He's hiding from you. You scare him, Don. You scare me, too._

Once he was done his father came and stood next to Don against the counter in the kitchen and gave him a studious look before asking. "Do you have any plans for today?"

_Yes_, Don immediately thought. "No. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Well, Donny," his father began as he moved away again, rummaged through a drawer and came back with a small stack of papers in hand. He gave them to Don and in return Don looked back at him with curiosity.

He flipped through them and when he had seen enough he looked up to meet his father's gaze. "Sure." He said as his head nodded his approval.

"I know you said you were fine, Donny, but if anything's still bothering you these people can help."

"Yeah, dad, I know."

"David gave me this information. He said they can help with whatever. They've seen it all, Donny."

"Yeah, I'll call, dad. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

…

_He stood in front of the mirror looking back at himself through his reflection. His hands where up to the last button on the deep blue button up dressing Valcic had given him to wear. As he finished fastening it his fingers came up to massage the black and blue hand print on his flesh with the little visible moons at the end of each marked finger._

_He could see why Valcic had picked this shirt. It made every peace of flesh he has claimed glow vibrantly on his pale skin._

_Hands wrapped themselves around his torso. He could feel himself want to gag, scream, push, fight but right now wasn't the moment. This would be the first time he would be allowed to leave the bedroom. He took in some air and watched as Valcic's face appeared over his shoulder through the mirror._

_His nose was pressed against Don's neck and he shuddered as Valcic took a deep breath through his nostrils. _

"_That cologne smells wonderful on you." He said with a smile._

_Don glared at the image in the mirror, his small way of retaliating._

"_Got something for you." He said with a purr that left Don feeling more uncomfortable than before._

_From within his pocket Valcic pulled a squared velvety box and held it in front of Don for him to take. He warily eyed Valcic for a while before slowly picking it up._

"_Open it." Valcic ordered with a slight tone of excitement and deep inside his gut Don just knew this couldn't be good at all but he opened it anyways. A silver cuff rested within it. It was plain, its edges squared, decorated with just one symbol. N. Unusually written as if to combine Valcic's initials into that single letter._

_Noting Don's hesitation, Valcic quickly took it from the box bringing Don's wrist up and locked it in place. Don hadn't even had time to react._

"_What is it?" Don asked though his mind had given him an idea and despite his disposition for this night he couldn't help glare daggers at Valcic._

"_GPS," The word had left his lips with a smile._

…

His hair was still wet from the shower. He had finished tying his shoelaces and was now standing in front of the mirror as he slipped on a jacket over his sweater and zipped it up. He checked himself once over. The look in his eyes stirred a feeling inside he quickly ignored.

He contemplated locking the door again and sneaking out but thought better of it. Instead he made his way downstairs noticing that no one seemed to be there.

…

_A second heavy silver ring was cuffed to his wrist at entering their destination. Don examined it noticing a bar code imprinted on this one._

"_Trip wire." Was all the explaining Valcic offered before his attention was drawn into a conversation with a man wearing a pretty expensive looking suit._

_Don took the time to inspect his surroundings. Just like everything else the foyer was a sight to behold. Its high ceiling stood well above the floor at approximately sixty-five feet. The halls that lead to a banquet were just as beautiful to look at and the banquet room itself held awe._

_He was completely baffled that was until his eyes finally stopped goggling at all the riches and began to notice the inhumanity within it._

…

It was barely past two in the afternoon and through the spectacles of his sunglasses Don looked up at the weathered sign of _Lobo's Bar_. He was familiar with the twenty-four hour safe house for criminal activity. He had lost count of how many busts he had made in this place alone.

Popping the collar of his jacket he made his way inside.

It took more than just confidence to walk into a place like this without a link to someone or a badge but Don was packing more than just confidence on the hipline of his jeans. He took a seat on a bar stool and ordered a beer. His eyes moved tactfully around the room, surveying it.

When his eyes didn't find what they were looking for he released a sigh and took a drink from his beer. This was going to take a while.

…

_On a golden platter six champagne glasses were presented to Valcic and his friend, all balanced by the small and tender arms of a young girl. The round figureless features of her face and body gave away the approximation of her only having nine to thirteen years of life._

_Her eyes stayed on the floor as both men took a glass without even slight consideration of the girl. She departed with a small curtsey and his gut turned in his stomach as his eyes saw the length of revealed skin her scandalous uniform left her with. Her skirt hardly managed to cover up the piece of flesh her underwear failed to. She walked barefooted without even the warm comfort of socks and her shirt rode up just below her under developed bust. He felt wrong just by looking at her._

_He felt wrong just by looking at any direction. She wasn't the only one. Young boys and girls wearing the same uniformed dressing walked around bussing tables and catering food and beverages to well dressed men and women._

_His heart sped. Anger arose._

…

It was almost 5:30pm when a man believed to be around his thirties sporting a vibrant green T-shirt over a black business suit coat and jeans walked in through the front doors of _Lobo's Bar_. His manner of dressing was rugged to say the least and the red book bag slung over one shoulder did him no favors.

Don watched as the brown haired and blue eyed man's path led him to a booth deep into the establishment. From inside his book bag he pulled a note book, a pencil and a calculator, from his jeans pocket a phone and from the inside of his coat a pack of smokes and a lighter. It wasn't long after he set up when a waitress came by and left him a beer on the table.

Letting a cigarette hang from his lips he began to work, punching numbers into the calculator and scribbling on his notebook. Every once in a while he would pick up his phone and make a call. For most of it, Don kept an eye on him through the obscure reflection the lenses of his sunglasses provided - after all this was only a one man show and improvising was key but the lenses proved to be enough.

It wasn't until his subject's fifth beer did the man decided to take a break. He stood and began his path towards the men's bathroom. Waiting for the perfect moment, Don watched him as he passed just inches away from him and when he had made enough of a gap he stood, leaving a twenty on the bar, and followed him.

He was alone when Don walked into the facility, locking the door behind him. The bolt made a sound that had the brown haired, blue eyed business man turn his head to him. His eyes went wide and his footing moved a step back from the urinal stand he was about to utilize.

"How did you find me?" Patrick Wylie said.

…

"_Is this the one I've heard all the hype about?" Don turned his head to look over at Valcic friend._

"_What have you heard, Paul?" Valcic asked with a slight tone of warning._

"_Don't play coy, Valcic. It takes more then just guts to capture yourself an FBI agent. Do you know where this kind of feat would put you on the food chain? This is not the kind of information that should be kept a secret. You should publicize this."_

_Valcic's brows furrowed dangerously. _

"_Well, of course strictly within the community." Paul's eyes hungrily fell on Don and Don glared back at him daringly. "This could win you major points with Eller and Brown corp. They practically own all live trading between Mexico and South America." His eyes were back on Valcic while Valcic stared down at his champagne glass with little amusement. "I can help you get word out to them of your hard work. They'll know all the details. About him-" The look in his eyes was mad to say the least and Don found himself hiding behind Valcic when Paul's eyes momentarily flashed back on to him. "And in a week or so you'll be hearing from them and we'll let them know that you're interested in making business with them."_

_When Valcic didn't respond Paul's hand shot up, two fingers up in the air beckoning for someone to come forward. A man wearing a business suit coat, red T-shirt and jeans came rushing to Paul's side. "Valcic, this is Wylie. He has all the major connections."_

…

"I need information." Don said pacing the couple of steps it took him to reach the first sink to his extend and leaned his bottom on it crossing his arms over his chest and looked over at Wylie patiently.

"No way." Wylie objected.

Don shook his head in disappointment, his hand slipped behind his back materializing his gun. Wylie's hands shot up to the air. "Wow." He worded out looking a little more frightened than before.

"Don… The name is Don, right? I can't do that." He nervously said.

"Really? Why?" Don asked as the barrel was pointed straight towards Wylie and Wylie visibly coward.

"Because I'm just as dead as I am now if I do."

"I haven't even told you what I want to know, yet."

It took Wylie a second to respond, his eyes moved around the room before they landed again on Don. "What do you want to know?"

"Paul Richards."

"No way." Quickly came Wylie's second declination of the night.

Don released a heavy sigh, relaxing the muscles in his arm he set the gun down on his lap. With the other hand he began to rub at his temple.

It took Wylie to word out his anxiety for Don to look back up.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." Wylie repeated over and over again. "You know what this means, right?"

Don lazily shook his head.

"I'm going to have to tell him. Everything. That you were here and that you asked about him. Shit."

Don shot up and quickly moved shoving Wylie to the wall and pressed his arm to his neck. Wylie chocked for a few seconds.

"No you're not. You're not going to let a word slip out about this. To anyone." Don warned.

"You got out. Why are you back?" Wylie asked still stuck in the middle of his mini panic attack. "It's better if you just leave it all behind you. You don't understand who he is. He'll come looking for me… nuh-uh… no way." His eyes shot up and his panic was almost palpable through the fearful look he used to stare back at  
Don. "He'll come after you too when he finds out about this."

"I don't care."

Wylie's head shook slightly from side to side in disbelief. "Do you have family, Don? They'll come after them, too. Everyone, your friends and even distant acquaintances. You're FBI, right? It won't help. Whatever you're up to its better if you just drop it..." Don gave him another hard shove, succeeding in shutting him up.

"You give them too much credit." Don said annoyed. "He won't find out. I just need information."

Wylie shook his head dramatically, pressing his lips together.

"I'm not leaving until I get what I want. So, it's better if you just start talking now." Don said losing patience for the man. He stepped back, the gun back up to Wylie's forehead. "Where is he?"

Thanks for reading!

Reviews are splendid!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: More Don abuse… Don't worry I'm pretty sure I'm going straight to hell for it… Wait, yeah, straight to hell it is for me.

I think I'll bump up the rating to an M for good measures.

I hope I don't scare anyone away with this one more than I already have. I tend to do that… eh, yeah. My only friend is my dog and even he runs away. *sigh*

Chapter 6

Don was still wiping blood from his knuckles with spit and a paper napkin from _Lobo's Bar_ when he walked in through the front door of his dad's and brother's (and his temporary) home. He was too busy with the little irritating task he didn't even bother to notice the extra set of wheels parked in front of the house.

It was unexpected to walk in and see the familiar face of David standing in his living room along with Charlie and his father. Don's stained hands immediately made their way into the pockets of his dark jeans.

They had all turned as the door shut. David's eyes where quick to inspect him. Don's were faster at hiding the bloodied napkin and hands. But the gesture didn't escape David's experienced eyes.

"Hey, Don." He said with a smile as he approached. "Where have you been hiding? Alan was telling me you've been out all afternoon."

Don took a step back, he couldn't tell if this was an interrogation or him simply wondering. "He didn't mention you were visiting tonight. I would have stayed in and waited for you if I would have known."

"Don't sweat it. Alan had no clue. Just figured you would like to hang out tonight."

"To see how I'm doing?" Don asked David accusingly.

David's brows furrowed slightly. "Yeah." He responded taking another step forward.

Don restrained from backing away. "Did you come here to listen to me whine or cry about how much my life sucks? Help me feel sorry for myself?"

"No, Don… I mean… yes… wait…" David looked to Alan alarmed then back to Don's angered eyes. "Are you okay, Don?" He asked worried.

"Great, actually." Don responded. "How about we take a rain check?"

"Don." He heard his father yell out as he turned and walked away. "Don." He heard again, the voice had released a tone of fury towards him and Don stopped his march to turn back and respectfully face him. "What's going on, Don? Why are you behaving like this?"

Don shook his head shamefully having no explanation to give him.

"David is your friend. He's just concerned."

Don laughed. "I guess… you're right, Dad. I'm sorry. I'm going to bed."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." Alan said and his mind gleaned as his eyes searched Don's. "Have you been drinking?" He suddenly asked catching Don off guard with the question.

"Yes." Don said honestly. "I had half a beer."

"Don…" Alan said looking at his oldest son with saddened eyes.

"Dad, don't. I know you care but don't." Don said as he backed away. "I'm going to bed."

**4 Months Later**

"**It hurts, doesn't it?" Valcic said with pleasure making Alan's stomach turn and twist with anger and disgust. "Watching him hurt? Watching him turn that pain into a weapon?"**

**Valcic's voice rung through his ears like an echo. He wouldn't have come here if he didn't feel like there was no other choice. He was desperate and the more he sat there the more he became educated with Don's horror stories. This man's vocal cords strung out more information than Don ever let slip through his lips. This monster spoke of them like a trophy in his golden cupboard.**

**Alan was sickened by this man but the more he spoke the more Alan listened. The more he knew the easier it was to understand Don. The more he understood the faster he could help him. He only wants to help his son.**

…

Wylie held to his word. The text came to his phone a week later adverting him of Paul Richards' arrival to the sunny state.

He was sure Wylie had bailed on his word if the text had come a second later. Now, Don had a debt he owed poor Wylie.

The message had come with exact important details – time, location, accompaniment, etc.

A smile stretched over his lips. He could hardly sleep the entire week as he waited for that expected news much less eat or function. But now he let his head fall back on his pillow and before he knew it he was staring at the back of his lids running his plan once more through his head.

He curled into himself – he knew he needed the rest. The big event was going to go down tonight. He needed all the strength he could get.

…

"_Special Agent Don Eppes," Paul said through his teeth. Don kept his head turned away trying his best to ignore Paul's taunts. "How special are you exactly?" He asked. Don gulped hard, he would be kidding himself if Paul's manner of speaking wasn't becoming threatening to say the least._

_Paul had successfully made a deal with Eller and Brown corp. just like he had promised Valcic and now Valcic was a favor short. Paul had asked for it in the form of sex. He wanted Don._

_Don had objected. Valcic had flushed that objection out of him with a little pain and fear._

_Now, they stood in Paul's office. Paul had practically yanked him from Valcic's hands and dragged him into a little room hidden behind its elusive walls._

_He recognized the patted room's design was made for torturing. He could scream his gut out here and no one would hear him. No one._

_Paul pushed him against the table. He made Don sit on it and pushed his knees apart so he could stand between his legs. Don tried to stay calm but he knew what was coming. He looked over at Valcic remembering what he had told him he'll do if he didn't behave. Lips and tongue were to his neck and he tried to stop himself from recoiling but his hands were to the man's chest pushing him away faster than he could stop himself._

_ Paul's fist came up and smacked him on the cheek, his body swung to one side like a crash. His sight blotched and Don pushed one hand against the affect area using the other one to grasp on the tables surface as efficient as he could to stabilize the slight dizzying spin the room had took. All he could see was red hot throbbing pain._

_ "Haven't you taught him any manners?" Paul laughed out at seeing Don squirm in pain beneath him then his laughter turned into a deep groan. His sight had landed on the little amount of bare skin right above Don's belt line. Using both hands he placed them on that spot, feeling the top of Don's hip bones. He used the tip of his fingers to push up his shirt by the hem stopping at seeing a belly button appear from underneath. _

_ He bit on his bottom lip with a lustful grin on his face. Running his hands back he dug his finger onto the flesh on Don's hips and slid him closer._

_ Don hissed as he removed his hand from his face blinking wildly with the newly bruised eye. A light bulb hung over him, it stung his eyes as his sight readjusted to its intensity. Looking up and around, his eye still infested with involuntary blinks, he felt oddly lost in the tiny cubicle of a room. He looked up to see Valcic was staring back at him and was surprised to see an angered impression about him. His hands were into fists and his back was stiff as if restrained. He leaned lightly against the wall behind him, part of him shadowed by the unreachable light. He reminded him of a lion ready to strike. Don found himself gulping heavily somehow intimidated by the flipped image before him. _

_He turned to look below at finally becoming aware his pants were being fiddled with. He suddenly remembered where he was. His alarm and instincts were screaming at him to fight back though he tried his best to convince himself to remain calm. He knew it would all be over soon if he just let it. He didn't like what was happening - a huge part of him greatly feared it, but if it was going to happen he preferred it with as little damage done to him as possible. His rational mind told him as much. _

_His pants and boxer briefs were pulled further and further down until they surpassed the length of his legs and fell below his dangling feet, but Don had begun to feel naked way before that. He slipped the side of his index finger in between his teeth and bit onto it enough to push back the moisture slowly overtaking his sight. He tried to control his breathing, keeping it at an even pace for as long as possible but still managed a gasp when his legs were unexpectedly forced to spread wider and his breathing began to come out rapid and panicked._

_He could hear another fly unzip. It rattled him. It shook him to the core. The noise, the clarity of this moment. Of every moment. The noises they made... The noises he made. The fear and the shame._

_He could hear Paul preparing himself. Making himself hard. Don kept still but his irrational mind told him to fight – told him that this was worse then a thousand beatings. Told him he still had a lot to lose. Told him to fight because it hurt more if he didn't. _No, _he said to himself. He had to convince himself not to, again. _Don't fight_. And he didn't know whose voice he was listening to anymore. His or theirs?_

_Paul neared him, placing his hard member in position. The pressure was there. To fight. He was scared - the tears running down were evidence of it. "No." He suddenly said pushing himself up and away with the little amount of distance the table allowed him._

_Paul's laugh was maddened. "Hey, Valcic, do you see how your slut is talking to me?" and without warning he swung another hit across Don's face with the back of his fist. _

_Don's breathing was heavy. His hand was over the side of his face again, it had felt like someone had just stuck him with a knife in the socket. Forceful hands were to his hair and he was pulled back up. "I always wanted to do this to a Fed." Paul said in between closed teeth. His mouth was placed next to his ear as he whispered to him. "I'll make this hurt so bad you'll think you just fell through the nine circles of hell."_

_Don didn't noticed when his knee had moved in between Paul's legs but he suddenly jerked it up, striking the man in the sack. Instincts had finally kicked in making him momentarily forget Valcic's warning. Don watched Paul hurl back, both hands cradling his groin and he took the time now that the man was withering in strength to slip off the table and pull his pants and boxer briefs back on._

"_You little son of a bitch." Paul yelled outraged. Don hardly got into buttoning his pants when Paul charged him. Don took a step to the side just in time to watch the man step beyond him then grabbed him by the wrist and used his other hand to slam Paul's head to the table._

_Don was surprised when he suddenly had the upper hand. He had the goon pinned to the table with his arm twisted behind him. Paul wiggled and cursed but Don was an FBI agent, making moves like this ran through his blood like adrenaline._

"_Oh, you little son of a bitch, you'll pay. Valcic, Valcic, get your bitch off of me." He growled out furiously._

_Don's head shot up quickly as his wide eyes landed on Valcic. He had almost forgotten he was in the room. Valcic gazed at him, immobile in his position. His sight practically burned a hole through him by the way he was staring back at him, a look that was familiar but frightening. Don let go of Paul, stepping away slowly._

"_Stupid move, you moron." Paul said as he regained his posture and followed Don's receding steps. "Now you've made me angry."_

_Don looked from Valcic to Paul again and again until he bumped into the wall behind him - his heart beat rapidly. His hand was up in front of him in an attempt to hold Paul back but Paul now stood before him disrupting his view of Valcic. He gripped Don by his biceps and harshly slammed him various times against the stone wall._

_He stopped then grinned when Don's hands clung onto him tightly for support. He pushed him against the wall using his own body to hold him steady and brushed some of his hair from his forehead noting the tiny beads of sweat forming around his pained features. "Good boy," he whispered to him as his hand found their way under his shirt. "Good boy."_

_Don took in deep breaths, the room had taken another spin and he danced around his own head. He could feel the other man's repulsive hands on his skin. Without thinking he gripped the other man by the his elegant white button-up shirt, wrinkling the material in his fists and used them to push himself forward and slam his own head into the other's sending them both crumbling to the floor. _

_Things made more sense when lying on the ground. Don pushed himself slowly on his knees and saw Paul rolling on the floor, both hands over his face._

"_Ah," he shrieked with a gurgle. "I think he broke my nose. I'll fucking kill him." He yelled angrily._

_Crawling over to him, Don through him a punch on the face, almost falling over on the guy but managed not to. And when he saw he just might stand up after all, he through him another, and another, and another and another. Each hit influencing the next, turning less into self-defense and more into red-hot vengeance. Each one getting angrier and angrier – until Paul's body became flaccid and deathly still on the floor._

_Don looked at the blackened bloodied face then down to his own knuckles. They were stained and swollen. He blinked once still not completely aware of what he just did. He blinked twice and the man before him remained motionless. He pushed himself away from the bloodied mess until his back met a solid mass._

_His breathing was long and deep as if he just ran a marathon. He felt so confused. Was he really here? Was that really him beating that man's face in? Who was he? Whose life is this? Why can't he turn it off? Why is he still here watching it like a guilty pleasure? _

_Before he knew it hands were on his arms pulling him up, fingers to his face, snapping furiously. "Hey, hey, Don." He heard Valcic say. He brought a handkerchief out from his pocket and used it to wipe at Don's face, removing some of the blood that ran from the side of his head. Once he thought it was sufficient he stuck it back in his pocket and finished fastening Don's pants for him. "Hey, Don," he said again giving him a slight shake. "Can you walk?"_

_Don slowly nodded a few times then furrowed his brows as if not sure or pondering what exactly he was just asked. _

_Valcic noticed as a chill ran through him. Don's hands were up and in front of him as he looked down at the glistening blood on his knuckles in disbelief. _

_Valcic slipped of his coat and hung it over Don's shoulders. He took Don's hands and hid them in the sleeves and Don looked up at him._

_His eyes stared fearfully back. He was sure he was in trouble but with a tight grip on Don's arm, Valcic wordlessly led them out._

…

His body jolted back to life, his heart raced in his chest, the blood rushed to his head making him feel weak and dizzy. He was still in his room. He wasn't in that nightmare anymore. He had to tell himself that to calm his mind.

A hand was to his shoulder and he turned around startled. "Dad?" Don said when blue sympathetic eyes looked back down at him.

"Yes, Donny. It's just me." He said as he sat at the edge of the bed next to him. Don scooted over giving him room though he felt exposed and uncomfortable. "Tell me about it."

Don gave him a weak smile.

Alan could see Don's hesitation. "You need to talk about it. You can't leave it locked inside."

Don's eyes fell down to his knuckles remembering it with clarity as if it had just happened. He knew he couldn't tell his father about his atrocious stories. It was just too difficult to talk about it without the tears.

…

_He flexed his hand, twisting and turning it, folding and extending it. Feeling the raw pain that erupted from the small movement. _

_Never did he do what he just did working at the FBI. Never did he beat on a man on pure fear and rage. Never did he use his own fists to leave a man drowning in his own blood. It was always a job when it came to taking a man down, a job with some fear and rage. Work, he got paid for doing what he did. This was something else. Survival. He felt oddly good - relieved. Was he supposed to feel that good about barbarically beating a man practically to death when it wasn't absolutely necessary and then leave him in such dire conditions to spin his own fortune alone until someone finds him hidden in that little room? His normal Don self would say no, he wasn't, a bad guy is a bad guy but he wasn't. But another part of him would say yes, he greatly deserves it because of all the people he probably hurt in the past and especially because of what that pervert had just tried to do to him. He deserves that and a lot worse. He hugged himself tightly, feeling an unsettling chill run through him._

_Valcic came back in from the bathroom carrying a towel over his shoulder and a bowl of water._

_Don had been apprehensive around him ever since they walked out on Paul's still form. He was pretty sure he had misbehaved, he was pretty sure he had an over due punishment coming his way. But instead Valcic was dipping his hand into a warm bowl of water washing the blood off his knuckles._

"_Why didn't you stop me?" Don asked knowing he was putting himself at risk of getting back handed._

_Valcic remained silent in front of him as he worked on his hands and for a second Don thought he wasn't going to answer at all. He worked delicately, the towel dipped into the warm water, the soft cotton fabric moved over his broken skin slowly turning the pooled water under his hands into tropical punch kool-aid. "I hate that guy." He finally said._

_Don bit on his lip thoughtfully, the revelation a surprise to him. He had figured they were friends, or at least business partners. Or maybe the rules between them differed here from normal society. He considered his response for a while before coming out with another question. "So, if he would have been a friend, you would have," he began not knowing how to finish. He felt foolish just for asking but a part of him wanted to know why he wasn't being beat to a pulp right now. Why Valcic's threats had not come into action yet. "Stopped me?" He finished._

_This time Valcic didn't answer. He stood, setting the bowl and wet towel on a counter. "Wash up." He ordered his back to him._

_Don gazed at him for a while but Valcic had become distant. His shoulders were tense, he seemed guarded. His deflected eyes told him he was hiding something. His quiet demeanor told him he was confused. Something was troubling him – there was a mental dispute going on in his head but Don just couldn't figure it out. _

…

Don didn't say anything. Don never said anything. Sometimes Alan just wanted to grab him by the arms and shake him and ask this imposter what he's done to his son because the person sitting in front of him wasn't him.

Don used to tell him stuff. He used to confide in him. Now he couldn't even look at him straight in the eye. He was keeping so cold and distant. He hasn't even seen him shed a tear yet. He wondered if there was anything left of his son in there. He wondered how much that monster had killed.

If only he would say something then he'd know exactly how much. He'd know what to work on. How to help. But he hadn't. He hadn't said anything at all.

It was the dread he felt that got him the most. Whenever he'd see his son nowadays he'd feel it rise up in his chest like a bad burrito experience. He knew he shouldn't but he found it hard to break through his barrier. And his constant tip-toeing made him feel the insecurities of his behavior. By the end of the day he was worn out, body and mind.

But he knew it was him. This man was his son. He needed to remember that every time he saw him, now. Broken or not, this is what was left. He'd just have to try and break through it some other day. He could tell that tonight just wasn't the night. "Its okay, Donny." Alan said patting his son on the lap as he stood.

It was a caring gesture but it struck like a bullet. Alan had seen it from the corner of his eye. Don. The real Don. That touch had stung him, his dark eyes said it but when he turned to look he was gone again and there only remained that look made of stone.

There was nothing he could say. This is how things where now. No matter how much he wanted things to go back to normal that _monster_ had changed him and no amount of hope and imagination was going to bring him back.

Don looked up as Alan walked out. He knew he was hurting them. He didn't mean to but it was unavoidable as long as he stayed.

TBC…

Thanks again to everyone for reading and especially for taking the time to drop me a review.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was on the eleventh week when he woke up that he realized Valcic had left the bedroom door open. Though his eyes widened with the surprise of it and his heart raced with the hope of it, his movements were those of a sloth.

It was his diet. It was supposed to make him like this. It was supposed to wear him out like this. It took him a while to get dressed and he struggled to slip on his boxer briefs and pants with the ache on his behind.

He painfully remembered when Valcic came in angry, furious and grouching something about his employees last night. He had skipped the taunting gentleness he usually displayed when Don behaved and had him flipped on his stomach in seconds pushing dry and hard. Blood quickly came in to play making the harsh trusting slicker but hardly took away from the pain. It was beyond Valcic's usual cruelty. Don didn't even have time to tune out the moment properly. It was still an ongoing nightmare in his head that morning as he was clearly aware of his trembling body as he layered himself with clothes that brought little comfort to his constantly tormented body and mind.

The sheets had stained more than usual.

The open door led him through an acquainted empty hall that he has only briefly seen as Valcic stepped in and out at will. He followed the hall, keeping close to the wall for support for his lightly trembling legs until he was met with a stair case that lead to a clearly visible level below. The morning light poured in from the glass ceiling down to the ivory-colored floor below. Don looked back down to the well-lit hallway towards the directing he had originated when suddenly he became fearful of being caught out of his chamber. He knew he had to move quicker to find a way out. Tightly holding on to the railing on the staircase he took his first step down with a bare foot – shoes were never at his dispense.

He let go of the railing hesitantly when finally both his feet stepped off the last step to meet the marble floor of the ground level. Don recognized he was now standing in a foyer and his eyes quickly became casted to the door he assumed was the front entrance of this hell house of his. With shaking limbs, he took his first steps forward. It was inspiring to make it this far, thus far. Even his legs were filled with the enlivening of the moment. He continued further with more confidence, the front door now only feet away.

"Don!" He suddenly heard and quickly turned around, startled by the voice.

Valcic was walking towards him and Don felt lightheaded from having spun around as fast as he had, his heart was pumping hard as it could trying to compensate for the lack of blood in his head and there was a moment where everything quieted and his world began to tilt. Valcic's arm's caught him before he could fall and brought him into a hug. "I thought you were going to sleep all day," he said as he slowly pushed Don back on to his own feet after giving Don a moment to recuperate, keeping his hands on his arms, careful not to let him fall. "I already had breakfast and lunch. How about we have a snack? You need the energy."

Don looked perplexed. Valcic didn't seem angry or even slightly bothered that he was down here. Instead he seemed genuinely joyful with the smile stretched across his face. Holding Don by one of his arms now, he pulled him away and Don watched as the front door disappeared from view. He was lead into a large dining area. "What do you want to eat?" Valcic asked after stopping to turn and face him.

Don didn't know how to react. He was confused and his mind felt a bit fogged.

The door bell rung. Valcic pushed him to sit down on a chair around the dining table and Don suppressed a yelp of pain when his bottom came to an abrupt contact with the cushion of the seat. "Eat something," he ordered as he disappeared to probably answer the door.

Don was left alone with an assortment of food on the table. It was all very suspicious. The bedroom door, Valcic's precarious mood, and the food – the whole damn scene almost said, 'Sorry I took you dry and hard last night. Here, have the food I've denied you for weeks.'

He looked over the content on the table for a while. He wasn't hungry per se – he hadn't actually felt the pains of hunger in a while – but there was a sudden feeling of greed at seeing all that food displayed before him. The first thing he went for was a muffin. He picked it up unconsciously and quickly pressed it between his teeth and took a big bite. The spongy material didn't feel so good inside his dry mouth so he once again looked around and gave little thought when he picked up a fist full of sliced peaches into his hand and attempted to ravenously stuff it in his mouth. He swallowed what he could of the half chewed food in his mouth, every time the huge lumps of food making its painful way down to his stomach. He poured himself a glass of milk and drunk what he could to ease the passage of the food.

Suddenly he became attuned to a new but familiar voice just outside from the dining room he was in making him momentarily pause to get a better ear. He slowly got to his feet and peeked out into the foyer and spotted two men. One obviously Valcic but the other had his back turned towards him. Still he heard the voice but struggled to match it to anyone he knew even though it sounded familiar. He was left to wonder and it nagged at him for a while because for some reason he felt it was important but still not even the urgency of it gave results. Their voices faded as they moved away towards the other direction and disappeared into the adjacent room.

His mind quickly reprioritized. He had to find a way out. Without thinking twice he set off again towards the door in the foyer and attempted to pull it open but came short of luck. The door wouldn't budge. He attempted a few more times with more strength in his pull than before and only stopped when he finally noticed the key hole. His brows wrinkled concerned of the thought that it had been placed at the inside of the door – to lock in instead of out. As if as a preplanned precaution to jail in and secure such escape from a little venture down the hall, to the front door from his main place of captivity, such as this one. He was caged in. He stepped away, with a suddenly feeling of nausea in his stomach, and continued his search for another door.

He traveled as far back into the house as he could, coming across locked door after locked door. Coming towards an end, he found another door, this one made of glass and he felt relief pour in. He attempted and failed to open it and it didn't take him as long to locate the key hole on this one. Outraged, he smacked the glass with his fist and settle on the floor next to it in the verge of tears. His heart raced. His head throbbed. He once again felt lightheaded, weak and discouraged.

"Don?" He heard Valcic call out making him quickly get back up and hide behind an oversized plant, crouching to remain concealed by the pot. "Don?" Valcic said once again and Don could see him looking around for him. He glanced around one more time around the area before finally turning around to leave to continue his search somewhere else.

Once he had disappeared completely, Don got back up and this time took the time to inspect where he was. It was a sun room and full of potted plants. He picked on up and through it against the glass window. The vase smashed into pieces. The poor plant's leaves, roots and dirt laid sprawled on the floor. It hardly pained him as he picked up another, slightly bigger, vase and threw it. It didn't so much as scratch the surface of the glass. Don irately saw this as his leaned up against the table next to him where the plant once sat as he panted lightly for air. He was feeling tired and drained of energy from all he has done so far.

"Don!" Valcic yelled from behind him as he was seized by the arm and forced to turn around. What are you doing?" He asked staring him down angered by what he saw.

Don creased his brows. "Let me go," he hissed angry as well. He wasn't sorry for what he had done. He wasn't the one who was keeping someone jailed up against his free will. He was angry and has been angry for a long time. His ass ached. The man before him raped him practically every night. So, no, he wasn't sorry he just broke two of his vases trying to find his way out.

The hand wrapped around his arm was bruising. Valcic was breathing as if it was taking all of him to control his anger. He was suddenly yanked forward and led back up the stairs. Don wanted to fight back but he was too weak to make put up much of a protest. Valcic practically threw him back through the bedroom doors. They slammed and he was once again locked back in his chamber.

Don could feel the tears wanting to swell up in his eyes, again. He struggled with his feeling of dismayed for a while as he tried to fend it off and not take the better of him. He held on to his arm where Valcic had seized him and rubbed at it, bringing little comfort to himself in the process. Then he set his sights on the door hoping that his anger was enough to burn a hole through it but it wasn't. When he felt he could finally get his feelings and breathing under control he got up and checked to see if he could get the door open by turning the knob only to reconfirm his suspicions that he couldn't.

He settled with a warm bath to ease away his rattled feelings. He remained there for practically an hour before his tummy began to painfully grumble at him. What he had had wasn't enough to satisfy him and now he had awoken the lion in his stomach with a ravenous appetite. He tried to ignore it as he continued to soak, giving his attention to his wrinkled fingers as he examined them. He knew it was time to get out but he didn't want to. Ever! He found a comfort in the bath tub that he didn't find anywhere else in this hell hole. Nothing bad ever happened there.

The knob to the bathroom door turned and then there was the sound of a body crashing into the wooden barrier. Don's sight shot up towards it at hearing it. His lips stretched into a small smile. The first in what seemed like forever. He had barricaded himself in with a chair. That goes to show that he could play that game, as well.

Then, the loud banging started followed by the yelling. Don just sat where he was in the lukewarm water as he heard the anger flurry on the other side. The voice belonging to a very aggravated Valcic berating him with ominous imagery – promising pain – but pain was every night. Still, his body began to tremble under the ghastly tension of the bittersweet situation. He let himself slid down under the water letting those rage-filled words turn into meaningless noises.

Moments passed and he could feel his lungs begin to protest for air but it hardly mattered because Don didn't want to come back up and face reality. He was beginning to consider never leaving this tub to take another breath, to never face the pain that he knew was coming for him at that very moment. He didn't want to come back to see that he was still here in this same inferno. He wanted it all to go away. This was too painful to live through every night. He wanted to fade away like he never existed. Fade into air or fade into water to simply be without being.

He twisted the hot knob on the tub with this foot and heard as the water cascaded in to the tub from the nozzle. His feet could feel the warmer water tangle itself around his toes as it blended into the rest and for a second there was silence. Just silence. In his head, in the room, in the world – and for a moment he believed he had faded into water, into nothing.

A louder bang than before was heard. His body shot up through the surface of the water. The same bang rang again through the silence of the room. His hands clutched the side of the tub. His heart raced. His breath rapid, inhaling the air he had previously denied himself. Another harsh band and a splinter went flying unsurely from the door. He could just imagine Valcic on the other side using a sledge hammer or something like it, to force his way through like he always does. In retrospect, that was probably the reason for the few seconds of silence he had earned himself as Valcic had momentarily gone away to fetch it.

Don was once again aware of the tremor running through his body. He wanted the peace he had found just moments before back and so he turned the cold water on as well and the water came rushing out the faucet. He tried to concentrate on the noise of the water falling heavily into the tub to drown out every the rest but it was impossible. Two more bangs came on the door and the water began to flood over the rim. Four more and Valcic was screaming at him through the little hole now at the center of the door. Six more and the water had expanded halfway across the bathroom floor. Eight more and Valcic was sticking his arm through the opening. It was only a matter of time before Valcic had Don's thrashing body on the bathroom floor fighting to keep him still as he maneuvered in between his legs.

The slam Don took against the floor came out in a loud "oomph" as the air was sucked out of his lungs but he quickly recovered. Don fought back this time. He threw a couple of energetic punches leaving Valcic with a bloodied nose and some good bruises on his chest but that only hindered the inevitable. Valcic's body always held the upper hand when it came to physical strength and that day hadn't been the exception.

Valcic finally had a comfortable position on Don and his hands got a good hold of his wrists. He pinned them above his head. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't hurt you right now?" Valcic spat at his face.

"Explain to me what part of what you do to me isn't hurting me?" Don retorted with such hate only a profound feeling of rancour could give him.

"You give me no other choice. I try to make things better for you and you resist me."

"I didn't ask for this, you sick fuck."

"Too bad. I own you, Don. You might as well have my name burned on your skin. Everybody knows you're mine and there is nothing you or anybody can do about it."

"You're twisted," Don said feeling sick by the words being told to him. He could feel the tip of his finger's go numb, his blood failing to reach them as Valcic's grip on his wrists pinned them tightly under the strangle of his hold on the wet, tile floor beneath.

"Get used to it," Valcic said with a smirk as he witnessed that look in Don's eyes that fought such declarations. He was stubborn, Valcic liked it. It left so much room for play. Valcic figured eventually he will break completely, leaving nothing but a zombie, but at the moment he savored every physical encounter. And even though his hands could roam that flesh whenever he wanted he was always left feeling hungry for more every time he was finished as if his needs hadn't been met. Because he knew that even though his physical power can claim Don every day whichever way he wanted there was still a part he felt he lacked to take. And he never wanted it more from anyone than Don.

"You will never own me. Not now, not ever," Don said confidently, with that same anger, with that same venom and with that same hate Valcic has understood to recognize as the source of his hunger. That game he loved to play but somehow he found himself at a loss. That smirk on his face didn't last long. Don had something over him. Something that Don probably wasn't aware of yet. And that was the part of which left Valcic feeling flawed and imperfect.

Don didn't know the fissure he left with his words. He didn't recognize the principle in Valcic's eyes. He saw the hunger but it looked to drive from a superficial lust of the flesh – the kind Valcic took so freely and violently with no remorse – and not from a lost nature seeking reparation.

Valcic's head suddenly dipped. His lips crashed into Don's. Don could taste the blood already. He struggled for a while before he was finally free to turn his head away but Valcic didn't seem to stop there. His mouth continued to suck at his skin. Baring his teeth, Valcic bit into Don's flesh at the nook of his neck with menacing force – leaving his mark, claiming ownership, again. Don couldn't help release a small cry as the pain grew harder to withstand. Valcic finally released at hearing it.

"You're mine," he declared with a hungry growl as he looked back at Don.

Don's breathing was deep and rushed. He glared up at Valcic with abhorrence in his eyes. The room remained quiet for a short while except for the water as it kept spilling over from the rim of the tub and onto the floor.

"The day you leave my side is the day you die," Valcic continued as he stared into Don's eyes with prurient observation. "Your place is with me now."

"Never," Don hissed with resistance and disgust.

"You keep disobeying me and I'll show you hell. You try to leave and I'll kill you," Valcic warned.

"I'd rather die anyways," Don said valiantly but that didn't take away from Valcic's threat and the fear he felt from it.

Suddenly, one of Don's wrists was released and Valcic's fist was up in the air coming back down towards his direction. Don's instinct was to hold his freed arm up before him in protection. His eyes tightly closed. A dull thud was heard and after a while there was only breathing. Don finally looked up with fear and wariness not having expected Valcic's reaction.

Valcic was panting. His temper had been tested and he had exploded like a time bomb.

His hand was on Don's neck threateningly. "You're mine," he said again. His eyes flashed over Don's body with a lewd look examining each inch as he began to undo his belt and pants. "You'll learn to live like this whether you like it or not." He said with such conviction it sounded like a promise.

Don felt his breathing speed up. Valcic's words combined with his movements overwhelmed his senses. He could never get used to this. He could never learn to accept such fate. But the walls of his prison kept getting bigger. His anger still burned in his chest like a million sun inside but he was tired of losing. His anger was dying under the chocking sadness of his existence. His fight hushed under the inescapable weight of Valcic's dominance.

He still fought for what he could but mostly it was futile. He tried to push Valcic's hand away from his neck but all his arms could do was shake under his exertion. Valcic pressed up against him and he was once again mercilessly reigned upon like a simple possession. The fight was over that day. Don gave in to the violation – knowing he wasn't going to win with fists – taking it in like slow-working poison.

…

The gun hung unused at his side. He stood in the location Wylie had given to him. It was a warehouse, vacant with only the disturbed dust as evidence someone had been there. Someone besides Wylie.

He looked down to him now – to his lifeless body – with a bullet hole in his chest. An execution. Don was smart enough to destroy his phone so it wouldn't be tracked back to him, he wondered if Wylie had done the same. He checked Wylie's body, checking for a phone or a notepad, anything but he had been left clean. Whoever had done this hadn't even left the bullet that had killed him.

"Sorry, Wylie," Don said to the corpse recognizing remorse in himself. Even with the freshness of the night the body was still warm and Don knew Wylie had still been alive a few minutes prior.

There were a few exits. Two of which were marked by foot prints – two groups. Paul Richards was here to meet someone else. But why kill Wylie? Don briefly thought he was partially to blame but things didn't add up. If Paul knew Wylie had fed him information, why didn't Paul stick around? If Wylie had, he must have told Paul he would be coming with no backup, as well. So why kill Wylie if he did 'fess up?

He looked over to Wylie. The other's eyes focused on the ceiling as if frozen in time.

Don was at a loss of what could have happened here.

Don knew Paul was unpredictable at times but Paul valued Wylie so Paul deciding to kill this man couldn't have been for a poor reason.

The further Don examined the room the more he became confused. Following the foot prints he noticed a scatter as if the men had been rushed – or alarmed. Then he came across a window of which the glass had a hole perfectly aligned with where Wylie had gone down. And Don knew there and then that whoever had killed Wylie hadn't been Paul but someone outside. But who and why?

Don didn't have time to investigate any further as red and blue lights glowed at the background. Don turned in time to see the cruisers still approaching with their sirens roaring.

He walked out through the other direction. Probably the same exit Paul Richards took as he escaped his death.

…

Valcic had remained surprisingly distant the days after. He didn't even touch him… barely even regarded him… couldn't even look at him.

Don suspected something. This sudden change of behavior begged observation. Valcic wasn't the type to shy away from situations, but as of lately he was avoidant. He'd get back later than usual. Sometimes he'd come back with his clothes ruffled and unkept with the stench of alcohol in his breath. Don studied this sudden change intently whenever he could – recognizing weakness.

Valcic was as cold as he usually was within a crowd when he joined Don in his prison, now. A contradiction to the talkative, attention-seeking, sadistic man he often assumed in the bedroom. Don detected confusion in the other. No longer was Valcic precise when choosing a new outfit. His hands would usually hover a few selections before all linear thought discontinued only to be brought back by the smallest of provocations, like the sound of breath when he remembered to do so. Valcic was distracted. His mind now often riddled with thoughts undesirable enough to define the creases between his eyebrows. During the night, Valcic's arms no longer possessively draped over his body as they slept. He remained on his half of the mattress and had left Don be. Part of Don rejoiced with the idea of it, but he knew he couldn't live the rest of his life like this – like a house cat. He still needed a way out but to his dismay the bedroom door never again was left ajar.

By the end of the eleventh week he had begun to think that maybe Valcic had been right after all, no one was coming for him. The rescue was taking too long, wearing the chances of ever being found. He knew the statistics and along with his arms and legs, his hopes were running thin.

On the twelfth week Valcic came in and was careful to approach Don – his movements slow and calculated. His brows came together and there was an apologetic look on his face. Don had spotted this out of the corner of his eyes and hesitated to turn his attention towards Valcic. For a moment, he did not know what to expect. He had never seen Valcic like this.

Don had been contemplating by the window, his attention stolen from the view outside when he had heard the door open. A chill ran through his body – the small hairs on his arms and along his spine stood on end like static energy building on the surface of his skin – his body's natural reaction to his tormentor. Now, Valcic's hand caressed his elbow with unnerving gentleness – his touch always turned Don's stomach upside-down. He hesitated to look, surprised by the emotion uncontrollably building inside. He felt his own weakness, a fear, the sudden lack of air, the knot newly formed at his throat. He arms tightened over his chest were they rested crossed over one another.

Valcic noticed this, he saw the expression in the other's face and how his presence turned the situation so. "I'm sorry," Valcic said without removing his hand from Don's elbow.

Don suddenly looked over at Valcic with confusion and surprise in his eyes. The knot in his throat grew tighter, his fear turned anger, the air around turning sharp. "What?" He finally said with bewilderment.

Valcic gave him a small grin Don could almost refer to as sincere but was afraid to label anything this man did as such.

"Let's start over… I want to start over," Valcic said tripping over one phrase with the next, quickly wanting to correct himself as if he was becoming aware of his evils and taking fault.

There was a twinkle of mistrust in Don's eyes. He looked up at Valcic with same confusion as before as he thought through the meaning of the things said. Valcic's fingers still lightly touched the surface of his skin with taunting patience and he was forced to think back to the things done and he could feel his knees become weak and a sudden heavy weight take seat on his chest. How he hated to feel the way he did. It wasn't just physical and emotional; it was also mental. He strained every day to keep it together but sometimes all he wanted to do was give in to the hopelessness and surrender the fight. There was a moment as Valcic continued his petting where Don felt like he was going to breakdown then there was a sudden spark; a light at the end of the tunnel. Don's sight had got hold of that damned door keeping him from escaping this hell all the while an intuition inside told him there was opportunity to reap here.

He looked back at Valcic and once again witnessed that inconsistency in the other's expression – a new perversity. He gave Valcic a questioning look all the while examining the situation further. Maybe, there was sincerity in the other's words… maybe, something more. Maybe, he could use it and turn him weak the same way Valcic had turned him. Make him submit to him like he has been forced to in the last months. Break him worse than Don has been broken. He wanted to see him fall so far down he'd wish they had never crossed paths.

"Let me start over," Valcic said almost in a whisper. "What do you say?"

Little time was left for reliable thought, there was barely even room to breathe between them as Valcic's proximity was as always overwhelmingly close, the whole situation was making Don lightheaded but Don finally found the courage to respond. He timidly nodded his head and gave Valcic a weak smile.

…

Don was back home with the stink of failure on his clothes. He threw his jacket to the floor and kicked the leg of his desk in frustration.

"Is everything okay?"

Don quickly spun around. His father had to stop showing up unexpectedly like that. It was bad enough he was carrying a gun.

"Yeah," Don said.

His father eyed him before walking in to pick up the jacket off the floor. Don almost protested but held himself back as his father ducked down feeling he probably would have come across more guarded than intended if he had.

Alan hung it on a hanger and neatly put it away in the closet. "You know," he began as he turned around. "Jackets belong downstairs. Why would you need it up here?"

Don remained silent. He didn't want to come up with an excuse. There was just so little use for them right now. It wasn't as if anything had been accomplished.

His father had a suspicious look in his eye as if he suspected something was up but he didn't say anything of it when he turned and he walked back out.

…

The next morning, the door had been left open for the second time. Don sat on the bed – his legs crossed, an elbow on each knee – as he considered what to do next.

The situation had bended a little further to his favor. He was beginning to see just how he could get control of this. He now knows he's not as helpless as he had recently begun to believe he was. Fortunate for him, he saw opportunity in Valcic's perversion. He briefly wondered what game theory Charlie would advise him to apply but he knew that this time he would just have to figure that one out on his own.

When he finally felt ready, he pushed himself of the bed and began his walk down the hall, again. He knew that, if he attempted, the front door downstairs would still be locked. No way was Valcic stupid enough to trust him that much. So, instead when he finally reached the bottom of the stairs he made a B-line for the dinning room.

Valcic was already there, as he had expected, standing as he looked over a stack of papers on the table, a plate of waffles with fruit left forgotten to one side.

"Hey," Valcic said as his eyes finally caught sight of him, wide and studious as he looked up at him charily with a careful smile on his face.

Don felt strangely insecure in his own skin under Valcic's devoted gaze. He hadn't felt this insecure since his first real case as an FBI agent but somehow his insecurity was magnified – this wasn't about his job now, this was about his life – the palms of his hands turned clammy from his own nervousness and his fingers glided over them to soothe the feeling away with little avail. He had no clue of what exactly he was doing but he was going to work this angle to the best of his ability knowing the little options he had.

Valcic must have noticed his insecurity because he slowly approached him and kindly took him by the hand and led him further into the room right where he had been working away.

Don's heart jumped into a hurried beat when suddenly Valcic turned around to face him his hand still clutched in his. Valcic looked at him for a while as if carefully considering his words and Don looked back at him questioningly.

Once again, Don saw in him the strayed perversion. Valcic's shoulders were visibly tense and Don could see the vein at the side of his neck pounding away energetically.

No words came to Valcic's lips. Instead, his hand had come up to gently glide over Don's cheek and Don couldn't help flinch away. There was a moment where Valcic looked genuinely upset and displeased by this but he recovered quickly.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," he said fixed in studying Don, exploring every reaction to his every words. His vision darting this way and that over Don's face with hopeful and anxious apprehension as if waiting to be accepted but expecting to be denied.

Don gulped. He knew he was afraid, he shook within at Valcic's every touch, there was no getting over that. His words didn't relieve him of it. Instead, it shook at him even more. And the way Valcic looked at him now – so focused on him – scared him even more. He was beginning to wonder if he would be able to go through with his plan, to play along the way Valcic want him to, just for another door to open.

He had to look away when Valcic once again reached out to touch him. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He was feeling lightheaded once again... trapped… helpless… condemned.

He cursed at himself for his pride and weakness. He wasn't sure if he could go through it. Things were already hard. Valcic's touch – how he loathed it – was impossible for him to allow and overcome especially with all his hate and all his fear that still dominated much of him because of it. But this was it. He had to push back everything he felt. Push it back to the furthest corners of his being. Leave behind only the anger to fester inside and motivate him to let go, bite it back, swallow down his pride and ego, bedevil his spirit and turn into someone else who could get the job done. He had to keep in mind that this could be his only way out and to keep up the pretense because this was just an act that had the potential to free him. It was just and act and he had the crucial role.

Act I

It was time to sow the seed of opportunity.

Don looked up to meet Valcic's eyes. Valcic's deep green orbs looked right back at him with want and need.

He reached out for him for Don for the third time and finally met his fingers with Don's skin. He smiled and Don was beginning to see the first fruits. Valcic stepped in closer and wrapped an arm around Don's waist. Don had to suppress a shudder.

Valcic was slow and deliberate. He tested the proximity, first. When Don didn't so much as flinch away, he neared closer until their lips met. At first the contact was light, like a feather's touch, and soft – still testing the waters. Then he applied pressure. Their lips pressed. Valcic's tongue pushed past Don's lips without determined effort.

Immediately, Valcic's body erupted with ecstasy. His body danced within the vibration of sudden bursts of electricity running down his spine reaching every end of him and he had drunk it all in with greedy delight. Don's body no longer rejected his touch. He was finally opening up to him and Valcic blindly accepted this drowning in the attention he hungered for for so long. He just couldn't remember a point in his life when a kiss had ever felt that good – the feeling different from his usual carnivorous lust and want. It sat unique in its purity inside his chest and in his mind. He fed of it greedily pleasing a thirst in his soul.

Don could feel how Valcic took him in like oxygen. He could feel Valcic's body shake from the excitement. He'd be lying to himself if he said his own body wasn't shaking as well. His body shook from the obtrusive fear he felt. The one he tried to push away. The one that refuses to leave. He could hardly breathe when Valcic's tongue snaked into his mouth and he had to restrain himself from biting down from the unalloyed disgust he felt from it. His hands were in tight fists over Valcic's chest, balling up his nicely pressed clothes within them, not sure if he was pulling or pushing away.

A part of him wanted to shut the moment out and not let himself know what he was doing, as if to protect himself, but there was no protecting from this. There was no way he could shield himself from feeling himself massage Valcic's lips with his own or from the shame he felt welling inside like thick tears ready to burst out and leave him dry of all dignity. He was at front row seat of his own torture.

When Valcic finally reluctantly broke away Don was almost falling into pieces. His body lightly trembled uncontrollably and his eyes remained closed as if afraid to completely face what he was walking in to.

Valcic wore a smile on his lips as he looked down at Don. "We have guests coming tonight," he said as he released Don and turned back to the table to collect his work. "Put on something nice," he commanded.

Don nodded his head several times with little energy as he felt bile rise up to his throat when Valcic's hand briefly touched him one last time on the small of his back before he finally left.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Something had changed that day. He couldn't really place it. Something in his environment, something in himself… the doors, the windows, the walls, the smell of the air, his skin – the walls of his throat. Everything seemed so much closer. It had been so suffocating. He stood in front of the attire he had set out for himself to wear for that night considering, really considering, not putting it on. He let his hands glide over the material – the elegant button down shirt felt soft in between his fingers but the idea did not escape his head. He looked at them, mare-riding the idea that it would choke the life out of him. He picked them up and walked towards the laundry basket and tossed them in. He settled with something much more lose fitting – something that did not grab at his skin, or pinch his wrists or tied him down – a loose fitting, regular flannel T-shirt and sweat pants._

_A few hours pass midday Valcic was home, he could hear him coming up the stairs with the tap, tap, tap of his shoes, slow and mocking, slow and bidding, slow and perturbing. The echo of each footfall crawling over his flesh like an ominous fate chained to him by the neck. The chain tight over his windpipe, suffocating, so suffocating, he could hardly breathe… he wasn't ready._

_There was a sudden fear but it held a different aura than the fear he was now used to. As if it morphed, no… as if the other had died and this one came to replace it. He felt it squirming inside him under the scalpel of his scrutiny. He stabbed the scalpel in succeeding in keeping the writhing idea of a feeling still._ 'Who are you?' _He dared to ask._

'He's home,'_ it responded with a hiss he did not expect._ 'And you're hiding something. He's going to be angry when he finds out.'

_Don gulped, his lips dry, his mouth and throat the same._

_The tap, tap, tap continued down the hall and… he wasn't ready. He wasn't dressed. His mask wasn't on yet. He still had so much to do to fall into character._

'He's going to be angry when he finds out.'

_"Don," he heard but he didn't turn. Couldn't, he wasn't ready. "You're not dressed yet."_

_Valcic stood at the door but to Don it felt like he was standing over his shoulder. Breathing his air, taking it away – it was suffocating._

_Tap, tap, tap… "Don," _

_Don had to figure a way out of this catatonic state of mind and ready himself before…_ 'He'll find out your lying.'

'Shut-up,' _he hissed back._ 'He wont.'

_Valcic perched before him, placing a hand and Don's knee and Don took in a deep, deep breath. "Don, are you alright?"_

_Don nodded. He had to._

…

_There were bruises going up her arms that her tan complexion couldn't hide and somehow they hurt him more than the ones he's gotten. She was the ache at the center of his chest that night, a headache he couldn't pinpoint, a stiffness in his knees, the tightness of his lungs. She was fragile and weak, and pale – he wondered when the last time she ate was. Her hands were clasped so tightly he could see her knuckles pale. Her brown eyes scanned over a table of food – she had to be new. Then as if she could feel him staring her eyes shot up to his, they connected – he could feel her hunger as if it laid in his own gut, through her eyes he could feel it all._

_He had this urge to help her, pick something off that table and hand it to her, but that would mean pissing Valcic off and risking the beginning of escape. He had to look down to the floor because simply staring was too hard to do. There was a feeling of relief when Valcic finally decided to move away that didn't last long because famine was in every other face and because apparently he was hardly special._

_Don followed Valcic that night as if an invisible chain liked them. Every step Valcic took Don was sure to echo. Most of the night was a sour memory and it was the recurrent exercise of emotion from anger then impotence and anger then impotence and so forth that made him so insufferably numb. The feeling stuck to his insides like old chewing gum – repulsive in its persistence. It was an emptiness he could not bare acknowledge though he knew it was there._

_He looked for her in the crowd but didn't know why. Searching the many for her but he did it without moving out of place, keeping close to Valcic because that's where he wanted him and he had no room to argue it. _

_A crowd of men moved and right behind them she was hiding. Her eyes danced over a plate of strawberries. She looked around the room. Her hands pumped at her empty palms with futile anticipation._

_He was seized by the arm and tugged, Don turned in time to see Valcic give him a disapproving glare. Apparently, he had been falling behind._

_"Don, if you're hungry help yourself to anything you want," Valcic had finally acknowledged his distraction. Don's brows rose at the privilege. Maybe he was a little special after all. _

_That was easy enough to do. He picked an apple up, looked over it as if examining it and made sure Valcic wasn't looking before he broke that invisible chain and made his way to her. She wasn't hard to find again. She was standing over by the same table as if her job was to guard it._

_Don quickly glanced back at Valcic relieved to see he was still distracted within a conversation he was holding with a group of people. Approaching her he offered her the apple and she looked back at him with wide eyes. Shoving it in her hands he nodded once hoping she'd understand. She must have, the forming of glistening tears was swelling in her eyes, but she quickly looked down at the apple, hugging it close to her stomach. It was a great moment for Don as well. With this small gesture he had shared his small, remaining hope with someone else in return renewing some of the other he had let die within himself. He quickly looked around once more in precaution and then rested a hand on the woman's shoulder in a way bidding sympathy and discretion. Somehow, wordlessly they had come to the same understanding. With a small courteous slight-bow of her head she backed away but as her figure removed itself from his presence another made itself known. Don was stunned still, his heart skipping a beat as the other grinned back at him. Joel Murray… _

_He knew he had heard a familiar voice his first day out of the bedroom. With that dawning of information came a frightening dread. That man had been wanted chiefly by all of the United States government. A sadistic man, twisted to the core. Don really couldn't understand why he had been so surprised to see him there, after all here's where the sickest of the sickest traded information and more. He, himself, hadn't been directly assigned to his manhunt that obviously proved to be a complete failure but he had known someone who had; Billy Cooper._

_Joel Murray stared at him from across the room, a smug, devilish grin stretched across his lips. The man raised a hand up before him, his thumb up in the air while his index finger pointed straight at Don. With one of his eyes closed, he aligned his imaginary gun with the sight trajectory of his one open eye and… bang! he pulled back the imaginary trigger and shot his imaginary bullet._

_Just then Valcic decided to make his valiant appearance, standing between him and Joel Murray's bullet. "Damn it, Don," he said as he gripped him harshly from the upper arm. He pulled Don away and had him pushed against a wall. Valcic growled under his breath, his brows wrinkled his muscles jumpy. Don could see that somewhere in the undertones of Valcic's show of displeasure was distress, posing the question, why? Valcic looked back towards where Joel Murray stood and then back to Don. "Stay close," Valcic warned. Though Don should have felt panicked by Valcic's posing anger instead he felt relief as the sudden realization came to be. Valcic was protecting him. Joel might be a threatening presence but now he knew he was untouchable as long as Valcic was there. Not Joel Murray, not anyone can cross him when he had Valcic as a shield. Valcic wouldn't allow it._

…

There were times he wondered how well he was able to convince his family he was fine. After all he was sitting alone for the third time that week at a bar drinking away his cognition. Looking for clarity, or sanity or whatever people usually look for at the bottom of a bottle that doesn't come guaranteed on the label. Whatever the reason, he wasn't finding it.

Ever since Patrick Wylie's early and unfortunate death Don had been at a stand still. No movement, no progression… the drinking didn't help and he knew it. He might have had one to many but now-a-days he wasn't all that good at drinking as he once was. And was he to blame? He would like to think not but somewhere inside he knew he should have been counting the bottles as they came and went. Regardless of that fact, by the looks of the time on his watch he should be heading home or he was sure his father would be calling the FBI, David to be exact, to come and extract him from whatever he was putting himself trough. And David would do the right thing and bring him home. Stop him from completing his impetuous need to self-destruct.

He watched as the bartender gave him a way to familiar look. It bothered Don to see it on him, as if that man could judge, but his brain was a little too tweaked in a favorable way to really care, anyways.

He sighed and slapped a couple of bills on the bar and twirled his stool around and groaned as the room spun a bit as he all to quickly stood but he made it fine on to his feet, regardless. Once outside he leaned against a wall and looked up at the night sky. The few stars he could see seemingly moved in the sky like slow shooting meteors, as if imagined by the warm liquid amber whirling inside his head. How he enjoyed his little friend when it accompanies his prisoner mind.

The stars traveled, and traveled and traveled in the sky but really they didn't move. Don could tell, but his mind had him pretty fooled. He could feel himself tilt a little and quickly he pushed his hands to the wall regaining his own equilibrium. He knew he couldn't go home like that but despite that a small laugh escaped him and a light, crisp breeze blew by as if the night was laughing with him.

It was soothing to hear his own laughter echo back to him as if for those few moments a part of him forgot his troubles and dedicated that moment to overdue freedom, wherever it may come.

The moment had come perfectly. It was a small moment, a quiet moment, fleeting as the night becomes yesterday. He closed his eyes enjoying his drunken state of euphoria knowing that when the revelry of liquor in him diminishes he'll remember that he has not forgotten. That he will never forget. That it will always be with him no matter how much he chooses to push that warm poison down his throat, no matter how many times he makes the stars move across that infinite night sky with stalling, dreamy sloth, and no matter if the wind joins him ever again in another relieving laugh. Cheers to this moment for one like it may never come again.

…

_The party was dying down. The young woman Don had given an apple to was no longer in his mind. He sat on his own on a couch for the millionth time examining his bracelets; looking for a way to break it open and pull the tiny chip he knew was in there apart. But its surface was smooth, not even a cranny where he can wedge his finger nail blemished its surface. There just was no way to break through it with his immediate means._

_He had previously tried to unhook it from its locked position with no avail. When no one was looking he even attempted to jam a fork inside but coming from his own knowledge of working for an agency where capturing and limiting movement was his business, he knew where his efforts where leading him. He sighed, letting his sore wrist fall on his lap. He decided to take a break from trying to break free for the moment; bothered by his own stilled progress._

_He stood and walked over to a tall window. He studied it, his sight way up to the top of it. He followed a string of cables that ran along the ceiling. Don was sure that that must be the wire he'd trip with the second installment of his bracelets if he were to find his way outside. He watched it resentfully. His fingers unknowing to himself glided and rubbed against the skin of his thumbs and palms; he sourly constricted his urge to climb up and rip it off the wall even though a huge part of him greatly and desperately considered its encouraging pros._

"_Not the best of ideas," someone had said from beside him. Don turned. A man stood leaning against the wall a good distance apart, the dim lights above him hitting him with an inconspicuous aura. One of his brows arched above his light green eyes as he scanned him and in return Don did him the same courtesy. _

_The man looked of average build, considerably young and of intelligence. He wore a nice dressing shirt and pants like many of the guest. Already Don was building a wariness of him. The man stared ambiguously at him as if warning him and daring him all at once to proceed in whatever he had in mind but Don stood alerted and somewhat confused of the other's intention. _

"_The last person who tried that move… well, lets just say I don't see her around anymore," he said with an air of smugness that seemed to come and go along with his smile._

_Don took a step away from the window. He could feel his cheeks flush from practically being caught red handed. He looked around the room for Valcic and quickly he became angered. His brows furrowed in displeasure as his stomach turned in repulsion towards himself. He internally cursed himself for assuming Valcic to stand for him. For letting himself look for Valcic on the first sight of trouble; his captor, his nightmare… his protector? How could he stray away from his self-dependence? Had he lost his instinct, already? An instinct born with him to stand tall and an instinct grounded in him by the FBI to achieve desired outcomes with cerebral tactics. Now, he's confronting this man with cowardly qualities as if that was his role to assume. _

"_She should be given a metal," Don said forwardly finding that feigning nonchalance was something pushing too much towards passiveness. _

_"Maybe," the other responded with a shrug and though he hid under an air of coolness, his edge seemed caged. "I'm Simon Jenkins," he introduced himself, the courtesy handshake failing to make an appearance. Either way, Don wasn't really all that sure if he would have taken it._

_When Don easily dismissed him, his sight turning away with disinterest, Simon felt more then dutiable to persist in his acquaintance._

_"You're famous around here."_

_Don turned his head back with lightning speed. "What?"_

_"You're famous," Simon repeated as he turned a bit to lean his shoulder against the wall instead, his undivided attention evident now that he knew he had Don's interest locked in the conversation. "You're high profile, a celebrity among the crowd," he gave Don a half-smile all the while Don stared back with distaste. "Half the people in here either want to hurt you or want you to save them. Either way, they know who you are. Or rather who you use to be."_

_Don's jaw tightened. Despite that, Don huffed out a small laugh more in disbelief than in humor._

_"I mean you still are, but you're not in here," Simon quickly tried to recover, his words rushing out at the beginning and then falling out slowly as he decided on them carefully._

_If time could be wasted here this man would be serving its purpose. Don no longer felt like he wasn't able to turn his back to him anymore but rather felt that's exactly what he should do. With his pointless chatter and nuisance, Don almost felt obligated to look for a new thinking spot._

_"Hey, stop," Simon called out as Don walked away and he followed. "I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings."_

_Don stopped and turned aggravated with this little cat and mouse game already. "I don't need you to point out the obvious for me," Don said calmly but clearly mildly bothered. "Stop following me."_

_"I just thought I could help," Simon said still following after him._

_Again, Don stopped and turned, "How?"_

_"I don't know. I was hopping you'd tell me."_

_Don's brows fell in thoughtful annoyance. "You came to me," He felt obligated to point out._

_"Right," Simon said with a half-smile._

_"Can you help me off these things?" Don said as he brought his hand up to rub at his still reddened wrist._

_"What were you doing, gnawing on it?"_

_Don gave him a look that made his smile disappear. "No," he then quickly responded._

_"Do you have a phone I can use?"_

_Simon face twisted into an apologetic grin as he subtly shook his head, "No."_

_"Can you give someone a message?"_

_"No." _

_Once again Don felt this guy was more a nuisance than any help. He looked around the room disbelievingly before coming out with his last question. "Do you at least know where we are?"_

_That apologetic smile never left Simon's face and he didn't even need to respond because Don already knew his answer._

_"How do you not know where you are? How did you get here?" He asked completely baffled with this guy's nerve._

_"How did _you_ get here?" Simon asked, all apology gone from his face as he turned and walked away. Don watched him in confusion until the man with a sharp suit, confidence in his walk and a word to help who had formally introduced himself as Simon Jenkins disappeared into the slowly diminishing crowd. His thoughts stayed on him for a moment longer before he forced them away._

_…_

Quickly his peace had gone that night just like he would have expected but it had been so obtrusively taken away he himself had not seen it coming.

A hand tightly grabbed a hold of him. His sight was forced from the tranquility of the clouds in his hazy mind. His position was shifted dramatically from the sudden tug of his person. He would have stumbled if given the freedom but instead he was pulled forward and there he was forced to stand by a sturdy hand.

"Damn it, Eppes," he heard some robust voice say. Easily, Don had the situation figured. His father had made a call to David Sinclair after all, who now stood before him presenting him with his loyalty to the Eppes family and physically demanding obliging behavior from him. If not given the situation, Don would have resentfully stepped away and returned to him with a forthright manner his disapproval in his behavior. To himself be damned.

But then haltering information completed its process in his head and he realized it wasn't David who chocked his arm with such angered force but Ian Edgerton.

"Ian?" He couldn't help exclaim with foggy surprise.

"In the flesh," the other responded as he moved them quickly towards a car parked purposefully away from the illuminating skirts descending down from the streetlights.

"How did you find me?" Don asked feeling he should pull away but finding he was unable.

Ian shot him a look over his shoulder that Don didn't quite understand. Stopping before his automobile, Ian turned to face Don. "It's what I do," he slyly responded with a slight impish look in his face as if amused while simultaneously keeping the remainder of his stern look with little effort.

Don could smack himself on his own forehead now realizing the absurdity of his own inquiry. He was sure even a rooky still training at Quantico was able to track him down with such confidence.

His little distraction almost made him forget the impertinent demeanor of his old friend in which he was bestowing him with and only now was he coming off it as he was being pushed into the passenger seat. The liquor's influence was working against him to his damned luck. Fortunately, his own hands found the edge of the car door and clung to it saving him from the small abetting shove that followed.

Ian shot him with another look, maybe, impatience. Perhaps, something more forewarning. "Let go, Eppes."

"Get off me, Ian. Go manhandle someone else," Don said with his well deserved slur and attempted to push past Ian.

A hand was to his chest, its protruding fingers digging a bit into his flesh as he clashed into them in his attempt to escape. As the hand denied him pass he looked up knowing there was no way his face wasn't expressing how annoyed he felt with Ian's misplaced meddling.

"Whatever this is about, Ian, drop it. I'm not going home like this," he said with a note of sobriety.

"Okay," Ian agreed and Don was slightly taken aback. "How about I invite you back to my place, instead?"

Don considered this. Taking his time as his eyes temporarily met Ian's with a drunken uncertainty.

Ian's brow lifted and the end of his lips curled from one side into a smug grin as if he had just been given a compliment. "Don't you trust me, Eppes?"

To Don this little battle of the alphas came off more like a test intended for him and whatever the outcome would serve as proof to Ian as to the validity of Don's past misfortunes and the severity of it. Under his own self-interest Don felt he should not fail in defense to the man he once was.

But maybe he was being a little paranoid. Maybe Ian was looking out for him. Maybe the man he was trying to prove or disprove his past misfortunes to was himself. But how could he want that? His work in progress needs that vengeful anger to keep pushing forward. That's how he has managed to stay alive and keep the sanity he still has left. He looked at Ian's smug, confident mug knowing that trust had nothing to do with it. This wasn't about vendettas nor was it about family or survival. This wasn't about making himself feel better or forgetting. This wasn't even about himself.

…

_This moment chased him just like he had chased her. Easily he fell into the trap. The back of his neck burned with rage towards himself. Lately, that's all he can do, blame himself. The hands holding, squeezing on to her arms, the shaking of her skeleton from head to toe, the whimper escaping her lips as he tugged her. A threat intended for him; a fist punching at his weakest rib. He knew he was getting to him. He was predictable, too… good of a person; he was trying not to be. He was trying to think of only himself if only temporarily until he can help himself._

_His eyes moved toward the apple on the ground, the red skin broken by teeth just once. One bite this woman took, one bite was all she had time for before this._

_Her eyes were on him, begging him to save her with them. _

_He was to think of only himself, that was the plan. But then why was he here? Why did he chase her? Why did he feel the need to save her?_

_Was this the dead end of survivalism? Would this be his end?_

"_Don, you seem tense. Why?" Joel Murray asked._

"_What do you want from me?" Don asked trying to jump over all the bullshit._

"_Testy," the other said and began smacking his tongue in his mouth in disapproval. "I don't like it that you're getting testy," his hand slipped into his coat and materialized a silver, shiny knife. Beautiful piece of metal if taken away from this situation. Pieced together by a professional craftsman, no doubt. The girl in his hands squealed in fear when she saw the bladed object swing in Joel Murray's hand._

_Don felt scared for her as well. He hated that he had needed to chase her when those hands had pulled her away from the crowd, away from everyone else. He hated that he felt he had to be there for her, save her. This wasn't turning out like he wanted. This need in him was sabotaging his plans._

"_It's not your job to protect these people anymore," Joel Murray said with a smile in his face. He laughed, a chilling howl escaped him. The man was clearly instable, insane… and he held a knife to her. She shook and Don felt useless._

"_Please," she said with a shaking voice. Don had heard it before, scared victims begging. Before, he'd do everything he could for them. Now, he feared there was nothing he could do. Joel Murray knew this. He was swimming in Don's misfortune. Taking it in as if that was the meaning of happiness. Taking it in as if this was the absolute reason to live. This moment, her pain, his downfall… As if it could turn him into a celestial witness to the order of life. Witness wings be tore off the disgraced with hungry eyes as if it fed his hellish appetite. The value of this hunt paid for in knowledge, awareness, the upper hand to the painfully naïve. Naïve like the ones that chase their deaths. Naïve like him._

_Joel Murray's hand moved up from her arm and he then clasped it over her mouth, pressing her tight against his chest. She wiggled and whined but that's all she was disposed to. Even more when Joel Murray pressed the blade to her side._

_Don moved forward in an impulsive reaction. The hand with the knife shot up and Joel Murray pointed it at Don warding the distance between both men. Don obliged forcefully._

"_Nah, ah, ah," Joel Murray sang the blade swinging back and forth as he did so. "Don't make her pay for your mistake."_

_Don growled under his breath. "Let her go and I'll do whatever you want," he said hating himself more as he spoke. This wasn't what he wanted. He did not want to fall victim to him as well but something in him drove him into this. Something that clearly he had no control over. A belief..?_

_Joel Murray gave him a look, a half smile that failed to hide any unspoken mischief behind its teeth. He then jerked, quickly, suddenly as if he had been srtuck by a bullet from behind. But there was no one in this room besides them. The door was closed and there were no windows. For a while Don had been confused. What had happened?_

_He knew at that moment when her eyes no longer focused on him, the moment her eyes had shot up to look at the ceiling that no magic bullet had hit Joel Murray. No, it was the movement that came with sticking someone with a knife that was the jerk. The realization fell into his insides like burning coal. He sprang to her as Joel Murray let her fall. She fell into his arms and her eyes still dance around the ceiling, wide and scared. She was still shaking. He hadn't expected her skin to be cold to the touch._

"_Hey," he said to her, "you're going to be alright, you hear me?"_

_She nodded, scared but her hope was on him. He could see it in her eyes. She believed him._

"_Liar," Joel Murray said as he circled around them, "She's dead."_

_The woman in Don's arms kept her eyes on him. Her brows creased and her eyes watered as she heard Joel Murray speak. Her hand came up to his arm and she tugged at his sleeve. "Please," she said weakly._

"_The air you're breathing in, Don," he continued. "Is her death breath."_

"_Shut-up," Don hissed but it was dull. His thoughts could only focus in her eyes, her fear, her death. He pressed a hand to her side, futilely pushing pressure into the deep wound._

_Joel Murray was behind him now. His head rested on Don's shoulder like a simple child peaking over his mother to see the new born she held in her hand with curiosity. But no simple child could hold a knife with such menace. _

_The fist holding the blade was pressed to the side of his shoulder with a forgetful conscious as if the thing was as harmless as a toy truck. Don wished to brush him of like a pestering fly but wisely he didn't._

"_You know, I have been in hiding for a long time. Always staring out."_

_Don could see the blade move across his chest with such carelessness that he had to shift his head so the blade wouldn't cut at his chin. Joel Murray now had him in an embrace as he whispered the words to him. Something for loved ones to do._

"_Frankly, I'm sick of it." He confessed with little disruption of emotion as so that his words didn't match his tone but the blade suddenly became purposeful, again. The tip was pressing into the bottom of Don's jaw so lightly that at the moment it only felt like a mosquito bite. Still, it made Don nervous. He feared the quick and sudden jerk. He feared his eyes will shoot up to the ceiling as he takes in the pain with an inability to scream as he breathes out his death breaths. "I wonder what kind of message I will be giving to Billy Cooper if I kill you right now?"_

"_Hiding forever will be your only hope of surviving," Don answered trying not to use his jaw to speak. "There will be hell to pay if he ever finds out."_

"_I'll make it my business he finds out. I'll send him your heart with a letter from yours truly" he giggles lightly pressing his face to the side of Don's, bringing him in closer to his embrace. "You two use to be partners, I know. I use to hear about you two. The work you did together. The high rate of success you had working side by side. I got assigned to him after you two had split. Hmm," he hummed peacefully as if thinking back to an endearing moment. "Too bad, we could have had fun even then."_

_Don felt Joel Murray shift a little in position and Don flinched thinking Joel Murray had jerked. He laughed from behind Don._

"_Be scared, Don," he laughed again. "I like it that you're scared of me."_

_The woman in Don's arms slowly began to lose her hold on his sleeve. Her eyes blinked away unshed and lingering tears. Don could hear her shallow breath diminish ever so slowly until it was nothing but a fatigued labor to breathe. "Hey," he said to her hoping death was like sleep in that he could shake it away._

_A hand was in his hair, the blade no longer against his skin, and he was being dragged away from her. He had unintentionally let go of her as he felt the pain at his cranium and he heard as her head hit the floor with a thud._

_Joel Murray was above him, a hand on his chest and the blade to his neck. "Pay attention to me," he spat angrily. The look in his eye spoke of the danger of disobeying. The blade reassured that warning._

"_What do you want?" Don asked exasperated granting the man his attention after his angered harassment. He was tempted to turn and see how the woman was doing but gathered it wouldn't sit too well with this fiddly man._

"_A chat," Joel smile came back._

"_A chat?" Don inquired halfheartedly. A chat was harmless but there was a woman dying a few feet from them that needed help soon and this man wanted to chat? There were better things to think of. Where could he find help for her? Would anyone care if she died? How was he going to escape this one? His head ran through these questions and though Joel couldn't really see he was freaking out. He could beg the man but Don figured he would just get off on it. There was hardly room for thought when Joel began to use the blade to pop off the buttons of his shirt one by one. "Valcic will find us," Don warned._

"_I bet he warned you about me," he began suddenly too distracted by what he was saying to further pursue the decapitation of his buttons. Don could almost sigh in relief. "He did. Didn't he?"_

_The answer was _yes_ and he bets if he said so Joel Murray's hard on will press harder against his leg._

"_A few people know this but he's trash, like you," he said tapping Don on the nose with the flat side of the blade. "No," he mused on further. "Worse. And what I don't get is how he did it. Made everyone believe he's something he's not, I mean," he said but in all reality Don could hardly care less about this feud or even if there was one between the two men. His thoughts were still on the woman lying on the floor bleeding out. He turned to her hoping she was still alive. His spirits became lifted at seeing her chest rise and fall, meekly, but still._

"_This is no good," Joel Murray said. His head shook side from side. "I can't talk like this. No, not when you're not paying attention to what I'm saying."_

_Don's sight was back on him all too suddenly in alert. "I am," he said quickly. "I am. I am," but regardless of Don's confession Joel Murray had picked him up and dragged him to a wooden table pushing him against it. He brought the blade back and then swung it forward. Don flinched, putting his arms before him for protection._

_The blade struck something, Don had heard it but it wasn't flesh. When he opened his eyes he could see that Joel Murray had pushed the blade through both his shirt and undershirt through the wood and that was it. He wasn't bleeding. He had not been hurt but his surprise had stolen time from him._

_His sight was back up just in time to see Joel Murray leaning down before the woman, another blade of his in hand pressed against the side of her neck._

"_NO," Don had yelled trying to move forward but having to realize again that he was stuck, held back by the cloth of his attire like a harness around him. He gripped the knife with both hands and pulled. It had been jammed pretty good into the wood. He turned and saw the blade in Joel Murray's hand push deep into her neck and then pulled to the side. An outpour of blood started. This only made Don tug and pull harder until he was free but only of the knife. He was still freaking out. Maybe a little too much. He really wanted to save that woman. Maybe even needed._

_There was a sound of slashed flesh, a halted whine, a thud. Then there was doubt and confusion. The blade in his hand, Joel Murray on the floor bleeding. It was too soon to think about regret but too late to help the woman._

Author's notes: eh review please :)


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: :/ so I was gone for a long while… sorry about that -_- but hey at least I'm not dead :D. But seriously 2011 was a bad year for me. Hopefully 2012 is better… no it will better! .

Enjoy…

Chapter 9

He shook so bad when he finally slammed the bedroom door behind him. He remembered rushing to strip himself of the clothes he was wearing to put on something dry and to hid the knife well… or maybe not so well, but it was out of sight. He had washed his hands, the coat of blackened cells washing away from him in layers. The glossy, gooey, red texture never looked right not on his hands, not on the floor, not on his clothes. The iron smell made him sick, it was thick in his nostrils and the source just wasn't washing away fast enough.

He remembers hearing a commotion just as he reached the top of the stairs but he hadn't turned and looked. It had taken him around one minute to get up, get through the doors and up the stairs without anyone noticing.

Now, he just sat alone in the room curled up into himself knowing there was nothing else he could do to make this better.

The bedroom door swung open and Valcic came in angrily. Don flinched at the sound. His tense muscles wrapped themselves tighter, hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes focused ahead of him to the fireplace. There he had been watching as the bloodied clothes he wore at the party burned into ash.

Maybe Valcic had his suspicion, maybe he didn't. Either way he marched straight to Don and smacked him across the face with the back of his fist.

Don didn't bother to look up from that. His fingers felt at the knot already forming under his flesh, prodding it carefully. He panted as the adrenaline rushed in.

The chair creaked as Valcic leaned his weight on the armrest putting himself at Don's level. Approximating the distance between their faces but Don had yet to bother and face him.

"Do you owe me an explanation?" He hissed out spitting unconsciously as he spoke.

"No," Don said his voice barely reaching higher than a whisper.

A hand tangled itself in Don's hair, fist closing in to get a tight, good hold pulling him to face up and with Valcic's other hand was smacked once again. The second hit held more anger than the first and he could feel where blood trail down from the broken skin on his newly bruised cheek. Don's pants became deeper. His tense muscles now shook from the pent up adrenaline, rage and fear.

"Look at me, Don," Valcic spat.

Don gulped and held no hesitation as he turned to look up at Valcic, his heart in his throat, his hands in fists.

"Do you know whose laying on my Library floor, right now, DEAD?"

Don watched Valcic's anger, raised, intimidating. He yelled out his words, emphasizing it graveness, forcing fear, forcing an answer out of him: Bad cop move. But as much as the answer was _yes_ Don tightened his jaw and shook his head _no_. Valcic's interrogation tricks were something he knew how to easily navigate around.

Don looked convincing. Despite that, Valcic didn't hold himself back from giving Don another on the same cheek. This time Don spat blood out and he didn't look up not from defiance but from the pain still radiating mercilessly from his raw cheek bone. It took him a bit to realize Valcic was yelling something else at him, the ringing in his ears slowly started to lessen just in time to catch the end of Valcic's speech.

"-you will be sorry if I find out it was you."

Don heard him move away and yet his muscle remained tense, his teeth so tightly closed he feared breaking them under the pressure but he could hardly get himself to relax. On shaky legs he got up to get a small towel from one of the closet to wipe off the blood from his face with and went to sit on bed next to his pillow. He looked down at it knowing what was hidden under it, only barely starting to relax when he finally let his head rest on it.

…

"You couldn't wait till we got to the toilet to puke your brains out?" Ian asked annoyed as he looked around the perimeter. Don was making a lot of noise.

"Shut-up," Don said in between heaves. He was hunched over a bush a few doors from the room Ian had just got them.

"What is going on out here?" A lady said as she stepped out of her room, her eyes wide as she examined the scene.

"Nothing, ma'am," Ian said apologetically to the elderly woman dressed in a knight rob and bunny slippers.

"This doesn't sound like nothing," she said a little angered and testy.

"My friend here is feeling a little under the weather, ma'am,"

"Maybe you should take him to the hospital."

"Thanks, ma'am, I will, ma'am."

"No, don't do that," Don quickly protested. "I'm good, I'm good,"

"O, good," Ian said as he pulled Don up by the arm, helping him straighten up and gave the woman a cheesy smile. "See, all good,"

She gave them a look of being unconvinced. "Okay, but if I hear anymore trouble I'll be forced to call the cops." Don snorted in drunken laughter and the woman suddenly looked offended. "Something funny?"

"No, nothing at all," Ian said his cheesy smile still forcefully in place as he shoved Don along. "Good night, ma'am. You won't hear from us again tonight, goodnight."

"I think I'm… I think I'm gonna be sick, again," Don said as he place a hand over his mouth.

Ian groaned in annoyance and he pulled Don along.

…

Don watched Valcic pace up and down the dinning room. A hand held over his forehead and the other he held his cell phone in place next to his ear. "Yes… yes… I understand… yes…" he said into the phone as he bobbed his head. "I know, we're just going to have to find a way around this… I know he had a vital roll… no I have yet to discover who killed him," Valcic said as his eyes jumped from the floor to land on Don. Don quickly looked away, his eyes falling onto his plate as he poked and prodded his breakfast that he had yet to taste.

Don had tried his best not to feel at his bruised face in front of Valcic knowing the satisfaction it gave the man at know it still stung with every twitch of his muscles. But if anything this whole assortment of the situation has alleviated him of any nightly torture Valcic would have as a punishment for him. In fact, Valcic had hardly come to the bedroom the entire week. Don would hear him enter at the early morning, jump into the shower and start a new day. Valcic's new nightly ritual would be slaving away at his library. The same room Joel Murray was slayed in. The same room Don used to kill the man. But Don didn't like the ironic turn. As Valcic slaved away every night, burying his nose in his work, his new allegiance with Eller and Brown corp. Don would ponder away night after night fingering away at the knife under his pillow and wake up every morning at hearing Valcic enter with the knife's handle held tightly around his fist. Only able to wish having Valcic lower his guard to use it on him.

That morning was the first that Don hadn't heard Valcic enter the bedroom. He hadn't even felt it as Valcic sat next to Don on the mattress. His hand still loosely held the handle of the knife when lips pressed into his own and a hand caressed the side of his face.

Don's heart practically jumped out of his chest as his hand quickly let go of the object and slid away from under the pillow. He could feel Valcic's tongue press against his lips and he let him in, gapping his mouth open as his heart pounded away at his chest. At first Don made no attempt in putting any real effort in that kiss and instead left it all up to Valcic how passionate this morning torture would be but suddenly Valcic was getting caught up in the heat of the moment. His fingers had wrapped themselves in Don's fingers and he began to pull their hands upward moving their way under his pillow and sure enough Valcic's hand would soon bump into the object Don was hiding there if Don hadn't suddenly pushed his head up, putting pressure into their hot lips, joining in the passion even as disgust whirled in Don's stomach as he did.

Valcic groaned. Don's hands didn't have a hard time releasing themselves from Valcic's hold after. Once free Don had placed a hand on Valcic's face simultaneously pulling him in closer and pushing himself up forcing Valcic away from the pillow. Don kissed back for a bit longer before he couldn't anymore and he turned away from it. His head down and bowed and he gasped for air feeling horrible and cheap about the whole thing.

Valcic leaned down into the nook of Don's neck, licking and planting kisses there until he had traveled up to Don's ear. He played with Don's earlobe. Flicking it and sucking it. Don's head pushed in closer at the sensation rather more shielding himself from the wet assault of the slimy muscle having his way with that small piece of flesh hanging from the side of his head than actually from enjoying it. Valcic felt this. He pulled away and looked Don over. Sure enough Don looked shielded, scared of moving forward: a virgin tentative of losing his virginity… or so it seemed.

Valcic didn't think he'd enjoy this as much as he was. He placed a hand over Don's shoulders and rubbed at them comfortingly feeling as Don tensed against his touch instead of relaxing. "I can wait until you're more comfortable about this," he said as he kept rubbing pausing only to lean in close and plant a few kisses along Don's Jaw. "But I don't know how long I can keep waiting."

Don thought about the knife under his pillow for a while and then thought better of it. The movement of the mattress told him Valcic had finally stood. "Get dressed and join me for breakfast," he ordered as he walked out.

…

Ian locked the door behind him and quickly made his way to the window, peaking through the blinds before shutting them properly. He made a quick run to the bathroom to shut the window there, too, coming back with a bucket in hand and placing it on the floor in between the two beds in the room. Don had already found the closest bed as he came in and had fallen face down on it.

"Eppes," Ian shook at his leg as he called out his name hoping for a quick reaction, any reaction just to know he isn't dead yet. "Eppes," he said again shaking him a little more roughly. Finally, Ian heard a muffled groan coming form Don and he relaxed a bit. "Brought you a bucket," Don groaned again and Ian sighed.

"Eppes," Ian said as he rolled the man over on his back and got him to sit up on the edge of the bed. "Hey, how are you feeling? Sick? Anything?"

Don shoved at the hands pulling at his jacket. "Yeah, I'm good." Don twisted his body to fall back down on the mattress but Ian still held on to his jacket. Somehow Ian had managed to get it off over Don's shoulders unaware that he was trapping Don's arms close to his body.

Don's heart began to race at feeling this. The proximity of each man to one another made Don's mouth run dryer than it already felt. "Stop," he said softly, still in a drunk faze but he began to feel a little more sobered up as the small excess trickle of adrenaline started to join his bloodstream.

The hands didn't quite stop at that and Don begun to put up a small resistance as his jacket continued to be tugged at.

"STOP!" Don finally erupted. The hands on him stopped just as quickly, no longer did they work to strip him from his jacket. Still, Don panted lightly, his eyes wide and staring back at Ian.

Ian stared back. He was taken by surprise at the emotion behind that yell and he remained speechless as he watched Don breathing heavily and especially by the look in Don's eyes. He could see that look of fear swirling around in darkness of his eyes and within it he could also see that pained look of betrayal and confusion as if convinced that Ian might actually be capable of doing something like that.

Don quickly was on his feet, rushing to the door, his hands just as quick and desperate around the knob of the door, turning, pulling the door just barely become ajar when a hand came up from behind him, the palm pushing on the wooden surface until the door slammed closed with an unpleasant sound that made the hairs behind Don's neck stand on end.

"Ian," he said slowly, not looking back knowing Ian still stood there, the other man's hand still placed firmly on the door keeping it from swinging open again. "Let me out."

"Can't," he said apologetically, wanting to push Don away from the door and look him face to face stopping only when reminded of Don's previously reaction to being touched.

"Ian," Don warned.

"Sorry, Eppes, can't let you out like this."

He heard Don sigh, sounding almost defeated, as his hand let go of the door knob. It made Ian feel a bit guilty at the relief he felt from that.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Eppes," Ian said. Don huffed out a small laugh.

"Good," Don said taking a few steps back building the distance between them, carefully watching as Ian brought his hand down from the door and locked it. "What do you want, Ian?"

"Nothing," Ian said but Don gave him a hard look. "I just want you to sleep this night off. The jacket stays on if you want."

Don growled under his breath in frustration and a little in shame and moved to sit on a bed, his head falling to rest at the palms of his hands, putting pressure at his eyes in a futile attempt to push away the fatigue and dizziness… and queasiness. He felt paranoid. Ian… this was Ian he was with for crying out loud. He couldn't explain to himself why he was feeling the way he was.

"Fine," he said after a while. He didn't want to think to hard into this. Not with the headache he was beginning to feel. He crawled over on the bed till he reached a pillow. Pulling it out from under the sheets he hugged it close to himself, placing his head over it. His eyes shut, but his brows were furrowed from the lingering displeasure he felt from the whole situation. "Jacket stays on," Don felt stupid and pathetic saying that but hoped the drunkenness made up for his lack of care.

…

Valcic hung the phone up and finally took his seat in front of his breakfast, his eyes never leaving Don. Don challenged the stare but only for so long before something in Valcic's made him give. His eyes traveled down to his own breakfast and kept them there until Valcic decided to speak.

"To bad," he began. Don looked over giving him his undivided attention knowing that's what he wanted. "Joel Murray's killer is still at large. Unjustified. Don't you agree?"

Don gave him the nod of his head and Valcic smiled back at that.

A maid working around the house was finishing going through her morning chores when she caught Valcic's attention. "Mary-Sue," he called out to her.

She turned around a bit skeptically knowing that was not her name but responded anyways seeing no other around he could be referring to. Don recognized her. She lived here like the other few maids that worked here did. Probably slave workers, Don always assumed. None ever spoke to him probably under orders. None ever even looked at him even when in the same room. Even now, the woman's eyes kept glued to the floor in a bow of her neck though she faced forward towards Valcic. "Yes, sir," she responded softly.

"Are the bags packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Nice to see some good, hard working people get the job done right," Valcic said cheerily. "You deserve a reward."

"Thank you, sir," she said her hands coming to hold her skirt in a bunch in her fists.

"Stay for a minute, Mary-Sue,"

"Yes, sir,"

"I'm a hard worker," Valcic confessed turning to look back at Don. "My father was a hard worker. Just look at what we have accomplished. But that's irrelevant, right now. I'm in the verge of losing my deal with Eller and Brown corp. because someone decided to kill my partner at my own party. With him dead they don't think I can handle the task in hand without him. And how could they not? He has years of experience over me. How do you think I can prove to them I can, Don? You're a smart man."

"I don't know," Don was doing pretty well at keeping his answers simple, expressing nothing of what how he truly felt. The words he truly wanted to say locked behind his tight jaw.

"Don, think a bit harder. How about if I give him the man who murdered Joel Murray? Hm? Do you think that would be enough to convince them?"

Don didn't know what to say to that. He just stared back at Valcic basically speechless.

"Okay, good. I didn't hear an objection." Valcic said getting up on his feet as he once again began to pace. "So, first thing is first. How do we find out who killed him?" He turned to Don waiting for an answer knowing he wasn't going to get one. "C'mon, Don, teach this uneducated man something about being an FBI agent." Valcic pleaded. By now Valcic had mad his way to him, sliding a chair over to take a seat right next to him.

Don looked him square in the eye, watching him carefully, feeling this wasn't going to end well. That crazed look in Valcic's eyes told him as much.

"Motive!" Valcic said loudly banging on the table with his palm. Both Don and Mary-Sue flinched at hearing it. "Motive," Valcic said a bit more calmly. "We're looking for someone who had motive to kill him, aren't we, Don? Who hated his guts enough to do it?"

Don licked his lips, feeling his mouth run dry but said nothing. He just kept his eyes focused on Valcic.

"WHO, DON?" He yelled, getting up on his feet and smacking both his palms on the table as he did.

Don flinched so visibly Valcic had to pull him back by the arm to keep the distance between them exact.

"Umm," Don began shakily, his eyes moving around the room as he thought of a proper answer. "His enemies," he spoke giving it a second before adding. "Your enemies."

"Good, we're making progress, Don," Valcic said taking his seat once again. "So, now I make a list of all the enemies Joel Murray and I had at this party." Valcic gave it a quick thought. "That would have to be at least half of the people here. Any way to narrow that down, Don?"

Don hated the way Valcic was saying his name. Accusingly, almost. Bitter, but satisfied as if angered though knowing he'd get his sweet vengeance soon. He gulped as Valcic stared deep into his eyes, as if Valcic was digging for the truth there. All Don could do was try to keep the lie alive for now.

Valcic laughed mockingly making Don's brows furrow in the confusion. "I just thought of a joke." He said a smile in place as he showed of two straight rows of pearly-white teeth. "How many FBI agents does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

Valcic waited for Don to respond and when he didn't get one he placed a hand on one of Don's knees giving it a small rub. "Guess," he said calmly.

"One," Don responded logically.

"Guess again," Valcic said leaning back on his chair his lips tweaked at one end as if feeling clever and proud of himself.

"I don't know," Don said annoyed, he hated this joke already. "How many?"

"I don't know either, Don. How many does it take to find the one that got lost looking for the light bulb?" Valcic said caustically, his voice smooth as he slowly released the incisive words from his venomous tongue.

Valcic released a throaty chuckle at seeing the disgusted, pained look on Don's face. "C'mon, Don, laugh. It was pretty funny."

Don just wanted to punch the fucking lights out of the man. He could feel his breathing become shallow as he tried to control the anger and every other emotion welling inside. His sight dropped to his knees as he shook his head, protesting the words ringing true at the back of his mind because deep down he knew he had heard himself think almost the same thing before. Why the fuck hadn't they showed up yet? Why the fuck is he still here?

Valcic leaned forward to place his hand on Don's knee again but Don quickly jerked it away. His arms now tightly crossed over his chest protectively and Valcic would have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been enjoying it so much, maybe a little too much.

"Opportunity," Valcic began again. "Opportunity is one right, Don?" he didn't wait for Don to respond as he continued in a muse like state. "But everyone here had opportunity including you," Valcic carefully eyed Don after saying this and was disappointed at the lack of transparency he was witnessing.

"But it wasn't you, was it, Don? After all, I did tell you not to leave my side" This time as he leaned forward he managed to grab Don by the knee giving it a tight squeeze. "And I expect you not to fall anywhere short from obedient."

"So what do you say, Don. Does this disqualify you as a suspect?"

Don's eyes flicked up to him but said nothing. Valcic gave him another confident smile. "If not, I'm sure the next one will."

"What was the last one?" Valcic said almost musing to himself. "Mean," he finally said as he snapped his finger.

"Mary-Sue," Valcic called out to the woman still patiently standing where Valcic had left her.

"Yes, sir."

"How many people have access to the kitchen's broader, sharper utensils?" He asked quickly adding, "Murray was murder by a long, broad knife," making sure Don was getting the whole picture.

"Just us, your maids, sir," she said with a shaky voice.

"Good, thank you, Mary-Sue. That really slims things down for us. Doesn't it, Don? Now, I'm sure it wasn't you," Valcic said and Don looked back distrustfully keeping his eyes on Valcic as the other man stood from his seat and mad his way to shaking Mary-Sue.

"An eye for an eye," Valcic said his sight back on Don. "That's justifiable," he continued as he materialized a gun from the inside of his suit jacket and pointed it straight at the maid. "Agree, Don?"

"Stop," Don said, his eyes now wide.

"Do you have something to add?" Valcic asked with a smirk as the woman next to him began to sob loudly.

Don's arms no longer crossed over his chest instead his hands grabbed tightly at the edge of his chair. His nails digging into the glossy finish as his mind tried to work out his own controversy. To preserve his lie or save her life? He hated that it had to come down to this, again.

"That doesn't make any sense?" Don finally spoke his mind.

"How?" Valcic tested.

"You can't convict her of this crime only by these three things. You need proof she actually did it. None of them is legitimate proof," Don said flabbergasted.

Valcic smiled brighter than Don had seen him smile the entire morning. "What would be legitimate proof?" Valcic said lowering his weapon. The woman sobbed in relief.

"Um," Don said a bit jumbled, feeling relief also pour into him like water on a hot day. "A confession, finding the weapon with prints of the perp., um-"

Valcic turned to the lady and signaled her to leave before tuning to face Don. "I believe you," he finally said.

"What?" Don asked a little confused and taken back.

"I don't think you did it."

Don gulped hard at this revelation not really sure of how to react.

…

The headache was all he could feel as he slowly moved into consciousness. He had a foul taste in his mouth and he felt completely thirsty. Slowly he rolled himself over, pushing away the pillow, and sat himself up his heart skipping a beat at seeing a figure sitting on a chair just across of him.

"Ian," Don said finally remembering the previous night though trying to keep the embarrassing moments a foggy thing in his head but failing to despite that. "Get any sleep?" he asked trying to make this morning a little more bearable.

"No," Ian quickly said, "Considering you puke on my bed."

Don sighed placing a hand over his forehead hating to remember that and mostly hating he had done that to begin with. "Sorry about that," he finally said getting up off the mattress and began to make his way to the bathroom to let go of some excess liquid and rinse his mouth.

"It's okay. I wasn't planning on sleeping anyways," Ian said as he watched this continuing only when he noticed Don had left the bathroom door ajar. "It's a good thing you did," he said.

"O yeah. Why's that?" Don said as he stumbled a bit when he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Or else I wouldn't have found this."

Don turned around expecting to see before hand exactly what he saw at turning. Ian held Don's weapon up. The one Don had bought no to long ago from that alley merchant. Ian passively held it as if examining it and without pointing it at him.

"Not FBI issued, good feel," Ian said dismissively. "Why do you have it?" He said much more curiously.

Don seemed hesitant to answer and frankly very, deeply annoyed that Ian had discovered it. "Give it back," he demanded calmly.

"Don't feel like sharing," Ian actually looked a little hurt by this as he said it. He stood tossing the gun to him and Don caught it with a little effort. "That's fine," he continued as he slipped his jacket on. "You're going to need it."

Don saw this thankful that Ian had not pressed on and curious to find out what he meant by what he said last but only waited patiently to hear Ian say it knowing that he would.

"No more binge drinking, Don," Ian said as he swung open the door. "I wasn't the only one following you last night," And with that Ian disappeared behind the door.

Author's Notes: Review please… please please please… … … please please please…! I'll stop now… -_-


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: STORY COVERS! WHAT? Kinda exciting, lol. Mine are going to look like crap.

Chapter 10

There was a physical unease in Don's stomach that morning as he walked back home from the motel. He blamed it on the well-deserved hangover, but he somehow knew it wasn't the drunken night he spent washing down an impotence he felt so deep it turn him numb. No, it was Ian's departing words; the forced calm in his friend's voice and the protectiveness of his behavior. It was Ian's obvious disapproval of him carrying a gun spoken by his eyes that morning but his quick acceptation to let him keep it as if knowing the size of claws the monster that had been pursuing him had. He had been rattled by this idea. Ian's quiet fear for him, his own paranoia no longer unreasonable, his own fear hardly for himself but for his family, left him feeling edgy, nervous, shaky… uneasy.

And quickly his mind had jumped from Ian's behavior to the man, if not men, who have now got him on their radar. He held himself back from immediately looking over his shoulder. He had been walking over thirty minutes, every once in a while sneaking glances here and there at all direction, having yet to catch anyone trailing behind.

Part of him wondered the day Aaron Valcic had been sentenced for life in prison if that man would have the audacity to have him followed by a third party. After all, Don was now 'safe' at home where the FBI can keep a close eye on him. Ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. Protect him whenever he needs protecting. Valcic must think those where the cards he was playing with. But assuming that Valcic's aggressiveness held back at the first sign of trouble was something Don didn't know Valcic to be. Valcic wasn't a kitten hiding under a tiger's skin. Valcic was an intimidating man with bold stripes. That man never feared blood. He thrived in it.

Valcic was a man of obsession and ambition. He'd find a way to go the extra mile even when he couldn't run it himself. He'd push himself onto anything if it meant it would give him results and he'd sit back at the background and wait if that was what needed to be done to achieve an objective.

So, Don pondered, now no more than a few blocks away from home, what was on Valcic's mind? What was he planning? Was the man or men, Ian had referred to, Valcic's men who had been ordered to follow him? Was he in a more immediate trouble than he had previously thought? Was he placing his family in danger as he led these men back home with him? Did that even matter now? Was there a piece of information about him that wasn't known to the worst of his enemies, now?

There was a voice within him that still sung the same verse. The one who said such things like – 'If only… If only I wouldn't have made it back home. If only I would have died or still be back where I was in the clutches of sadists, then I wouldn't have brought all these problems back home with me.'

Before he knew it, he was home, standing just in front of his brother's and father's house. His wristwatch reading 7:38 a.m. His jacket lightly drizzled from the morning mist that had only seemed to start its downward motion from the sky the moment he had stepped out the motel room to begin his walk home.

Panic was in him from the start of that morning that grew in girth as his mind was free to swim and swell in the many possibilities of harm that could be coming his way. He thought of his almost elderly-father, who was still a healthy and strong man, up against one man set to harm Don where it hurt the most, his family. And his brother, who possessed the strength of an average American man, up against another. Men who may have been ordered to break into the house. Men more capable than that of a healthy-elderly man and average-in-fitness brain-wiz. Don wouldn't like to think anyone as capable of setting vengeance on innocent men, but he knew that there were plenty of men willing to do it for free. Men willing to take down a whole family just to keep one from opening his mouth.

But he wasn't even considering as much. He was playing at their level now.

Don was only left to ask himself if Valcic's obsession could lead that far, if his relationship to him had not ended the day Don through him into the cage with a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole stamped and notarized on his forehead or if his vengeance grew deeper. He wondered about the thoughts that ran in that man's head as he sat in his prison cell, the days going by, his life counting down, with all the time in the world to perfect vengeance. It had been Don's word, his statement in court, which had him thrown in prison after all. Don had been Valcic's well-prepared noose. The end of his luxurious life. Even though Don wasn't immediately responsible, he had taken Valcic's freedom away that day in court. No longer was he able to stroll all over the world at will. There will never be another moment such for Valcic so long as he carries the remainder of his sentence.

Don would be diluting himself in thinking Valcic would let go of such a thing that easily.

As Don marched his way up to the house he was already thinking of ways to divert such attention from his family all the while his hands fiddled with his clothes and hair. Fixing his hair back and tugging his jacket this way and that to look more presentable for the possibility he would come across anyone once he entered the home.

All signs said the coast was clear he noted as he entered through the front door. He quietly shut the door behind him and stepped lightly on the wooden floor as he made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom where he proceeded to lock himself in. His mind was set on getting himself to smell like anything other than alcohol. He quickly began with washing his teeth continuing into the shower, half ignoring, half forgetting all about the mirror that has always sat in the bathroom for as long as he could remember, becoming instinct to ovoid staring at anything that would show him his reflection.

Once out of the water, he wrapped a towel around his hips picking his discarded clothes into a bunch in his arms and swung open the door becoming startled by the unexpected fact that his father had been standing just outside.

The elder man leaned up against the wall just opposite of the bathroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes holding no shame as they inspected his son's exposed skin like a detective looking for any foul play.

"Good morning, Dad," Don said holding back any signs of embarrassment and, most of all, guilt. His father looked bothered, borderline angered. His brows creased at the center giving him a much aged appearance, but they also fell at the side showing his unending worry for him. The dark circles under the man's eyes told of a night with no sleep. Don could imagine his father sitting in the living room all night with a Sudoku puzzle on his laps – not one box filled in – a pencil in one hand and his eyes moving from the clock hanging from the wall to the front door as his mind left him with no little ease and at constant spin like a factory producing new and horrifying ideas and possibilities of what the night could be like for his son.

"Where were you, Don?" his father spoke as if expecting answers. A tone he had not heard his father speak with ever since Don had been a teenager.

"I'm okay, dad," Don said not expecting his father's mood to change.

His father's eyes gave him a once over just to confirm such claims but didn't seem willing to let the matter go regardless.

And even though Don had gotten over the whole 'privacy' thing after he was a teenager he still hated the way this felt; kind of like an overlap of the space that is his, like he was being pushed and shoved into a corner, forced to lie for what he had chosen not to show, a clear invasion of his 'privacy' – so being it, he hated to feel like a teenager again wanting some 'privacy.'

But that was a word many have chosen to forget now that he was back. Something Don was taking lightly but that didn't mean it didn't bother him.

Don hugged the balled up pile of clothes in his arms closer to him, looking to the side and pressing his lips together as he did.

Alan must have detected the agitation in his son because he relented. His face lost most of the hard edge, turning soft around the creases – for the better part, at least. "I was worried about you, Don," he said with a softer voice.

"Yeah, I know dad but I'm okay. I was with Ian," he said honestly though only sharing half the truth.

Alan looked relieved at this new admission. "I know I'm being," his father thought for a moment of a proper word. His eyes now diverted to the side, his brows still at angles though not as much as before. "Difficult to live with, Don, but I just need to know you're going to be alright when I'm not there."

"Dad," Don began to protest. "I'm not five years old, again."

"I know you're not, Don, but what happened to you,"

Don visibly flinched at the acknowledgement of his past nightmares. It was hard enough to have them in his mind without knowing someone else was thinking of them, too. Somehow that made it much more unbearable. Those dark atrocities even he tries to push away from his mind lingering in someone else's as close and dear to him as his father.

"You can't ignore it, son," his father said in a soft tone in discretion of the feelings Don had and hid though his father knew were there. The weakness in his son Allen knew Don had and felt every day. "I know it's not easy."

Don's jaw clenched tightly from the need in his father's voice to see him well again. He wished he could express what he felt, make this easier, share the weight but he knew this was something he had to do alone. The path he has chosen to take was too risky to involve this elderly man. It was too high of a risk for his heart to accept such sacrifice if only to feel the comfort of his father's nurture.

Don's eyes came up to meet his father's for the first time since the conversation started only to see those blue eyes looking back at him with sorry. It stung him deep within to see this but as he took the time to examine him he could see something else. Something red: Anger so deep and profound within the core of the man Don almost feared it, never having witnessed it before. This peaceful man that never held one violent nerve towards anyone now carried this murderous twinkle in his eyes. Don briefly pondered the threat, if any, such twinkle could possess before not only his but his father's eyes were distracted – forced to part ways.

"Dad," he heard his younger brother call out for their father. From the door of his younger brother's room he saw the curly-headed personality appear only to halt when he saw Don standing before him.

Charlie's eyes wasted no time to quickly study he's brother's body taking in all sorts of information as quick as he would anything else worth his study. The outcome being Charlie's small recession back into his room. It was so small it didn't require Charlie to take a step back but his attitude had so suddenly changed it became a recession. A un-attraction to step out of his room. It was a kick to Don's gut. An ugliness Don wished not to feel. An ugliness he wished no one else could see. His suffering was a bigger stigma than that of the one branded ever so permanently on his shoulder blade, in his brother's eyes. The stigma so dark and horrific Charlie couldn't even face Don properly, anymore.

Charlie just couldn't see past what had been done. He shriveled away from Don's presence every single time, now.

It was Don's turn to study Charlie. The shrivel of his character, every revertence of attitude in his presence, every cowardice to stand upright in fear of his older brother. Because those were signs of fear and fear is what Don was calling it. Offensive to Don considering Don had done nothing to deserve it. Don can feel the distance he once had with his brother once again assume its throne between them but this time it greedily took a much larger space. Bitter, and vengeful from its exile.

"I'm moving out," Don announced ever so calmly it was like just any other simple fact tossed around the dining room table but it had made his brother's eyes go wide. There was an objection in his father's lips he could see he wanted to scream out but wisely Alan held it back. Regardless, this was a decision he had decided on prior to this.

"Don, how could you even consider this?" His father's protest came in much more tamed than previously intended.

Don had begun to scoot over against the wall to slip past his father who was taking much of his walking space. He eyed the distance between him and his bedroom becoming defeated at thinking he would surpass his father only when his father made that walking space scarcer in the hall. Alan kept his front, persisting on the conversation to continue. His physical body showing authority Don could not negate, forcing him from moving ahead any further.

"I can't allow that," Alan firmly stated. "I can't let you walk back out there," he said begging and desperation suggested ever so dimly in his voice.

"I need space, dad," Don countered.

"Space!" His father exclaimed in confusion but quickly disregarded it. "Me and your brother need you here," he claimed.

Don turned to Charlie to confirm but only received the opposite. Charlie's eyes fell to the floor and for that while Don assumed that Charlie needed the same as he.

"I really think this is the best thing to do, dad. We all need this." Easily, Don slipped past his father this time. Alan's attention was no longer on him but on Charlie. So, Don took the opportunity to sneak by into his room, shutting the door behind him.

It wasn't long before Don could hear the muffled sounds of his father's and Charlie's loud words from a heated argument through the surface of his bedroom walls. He continued to get dressed, not pausing to hear a word of it. He knew what the argument was about. He dressed faster than the dispute could be over and as he sat in wait for the words to die down he wondered if he should just make his departure from the window, because that's just what he wanted – to not hear what he had caused.

Don gave the window a quick glance before pushing the idea completely out of his mind. On his feet, Don picked up his jacket placing it securely under his arm as he picked up the weapon he had previously concealed inconspicuously under it. He tugged it away under his belt and shirt and listened as the words quieted down. He wondered for a while if Charlie had already left for CalSi.

As Don slipped his jacket on there was a knock on his door. Don turned just in time to see his father let himself in.

No words were spoken for a while. Don noticed a battle going on in his father's head. Finally, he began to speak though it looked as if he had yet to decide on an action.

"Where would you go?"

"A friend's house," Don lied. He didn't want him to know because he knew he would visit him. Come by whenever he could. Every week. Every day if he found a way.

"David?" Alan asked hopeful.

Don shook his head.

"Ian?"

He shook his head, again.

"Whose?"

"Someone I used to work with."

"Not Agent Billy Cooper?" Alan hated to admit how much he disapproved of him but he did and it showed now more than ever.

"You don't know him, dad," Don said as he walked passed him and exited the bedroom.

"Give me a name, Don," Alan demanded as he trailed just behind.

"Dad," Don said as he turned around to face him. "You're doing it, again. This is why I have to go." It was blame being tossed from his hands to his father's, Don knew this. This man wasn't to blame for this decision but there just wasn't any other way to explain what he was doing without it.

Alan gave him an apologetic look and Don felt a pinch of guilt. If only he knew he was doing it for him and not because of him.

"Don…" Alan began but couldn't finish as Don wrapped his arms around him, giving him a tight hug. So tight in fact his father began to feel nervous. There was a moment when Don pushed away that Alan didn't want to let go. He feared something. Something deep within him told him not to allow this. A father's intuition? – call it whatever you want. The need was there, buried in his veins to stop him, but there just wasn't anything he could do, really. Nothing.

So, his son slipped from his fingers, he watched him turn away and climb down the stairs and heard as the front door shut. And that was it.

…

The trip had been a long one in which consisted of a two car rides – both taken while wearing a blindfold – and an 18 hour airplane trip on a private plane. No information of where they were or where they were going had been spilt into Don's knowledge. During this time Don would either be sitting in wait, wanting and trying his best to not let sleep win him over boredom – which it had a few time – or being tugged this way and that by the elbow. The only thing his sense could pick on were a few voices and other discernable noises, like the propellers of the plane and traffic. Already, he knew they had come through a city, but he still didn't know which. And by the time he was allowed to take off the blindfold they were standing inside another well sized foyer that he imagined belonged to a fittingly sized home.

Something else he had also picked up on was the temperature. It was drastically changed, colder than before they had taken off. He noted that, hoping that later it could be of some use.

Valcic and Don were lead to a bedroom to catch up on rest but in this new location Don's engine begun to spin again. He looked at every wall closely, examining everything, leaving no detail behind. He couldn't. He desperately wanted out. The sooner the better.

Immediately he noticed the rustic environment. Even from the foyer he could tell this was an old house that had been kept in excellent condition throughout the decades. The walls ran higher than a regular home's would. The windows laid in rows and also with an exaggerated height, but they looked beautiful. Just outside he could see, as he had suspected, a layer of snow on the country side property even through the darkness of the night. But as he could tell, even from the distance he was, that they were not at floor level. Third, fourth story he guessed. Which meant that even if he could get those windows open, it would be no easy feat to escape through there.

It took Don a bit to realize that just like he was working hard to take in every detail of his new surroundings, Valcic had been doing the same with Don.

Valcic stared back at him with perplexity from the large bed placed at center position from the wall set on the right of the room. There was a moment when Don felt like Valcic could read his mind. He looked back at him as if knowing exactly what Don was planning. As if he was an open book. Don's insecurities were what made him look away, next. He looked over at the opposite wall as if there was something interesting there and prayed that Valcic hadn't read his mind, after all.

Don heard Valcic slide off the bed and he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his own arms around himself knowing that Valcic was coming for him.

And just like a whispered promise, Valcic was standing before him close enough so Don could smell the faded scent of the cologne he had sprayed on that morning. There was a rush in Don's vein and apprehension thick in the air around him. Don wondered what Valcic was going to do next. He had yet to feel him touch him and time seemed to have stopped as he waited for something to happen. Don refused to look up at Valcic, choosing to keep his sight on his chest. He watched as that chest expanded and relaxed in long, deep breaths.

The apprehension had built so high during this time of intense wait. So much so that Don's heart skipped a beat when finally he could feel one of Valcic's hands caress the side of his head.

Valcic's hand fell smoothly down to Don's jaw where he traced his fingers over to the bottom of his chin. There was a gentle push there that made Don's sight angle up to meet Valcic's. Dark eyes met those green ones. Emeralds dove into him as they searched in Don's looking for an invitation, permission, anything to get what Valcic so desperately wanted at that moment, a kiss.

Don could feel a tinge of aggression dominate Valcic once again when the permission didn't come quick enough. Valcic tugged at the back of Don's hair by the back of his head. Their proximities had become closer. Don's arms had unwrapped themselves from his own chest and now found themselves pressed on Valcic's torso. The muscles in his neck became tense as Valcic once again took control of him. He could feel Valcic's breathing slow and husky over his skin.

Don's breathing had sped up with Valcic's movements. He could see Valcic's lips part showing the end of his canines as he stared Don down hungrily.

Valcic felt, maybe, he couldn't wait any longer. A hand had snaked its way around Don's waist line and pressed him close to him. Noses touched and Don tightly closed his eyes shut expecting to feel those hungry teeth press painfully against his lips, tasting blood when they finally broke his skin, just like they usually did.

A hard pounding started in Don's head in anticipation but those teeth never came. Instead, he felt as the hand at the back of his head released its tight hold and the arm around his waist holding him tight in Valcic's embrace relaxed and finally soft and gentle lips pressed on his forehead holding a kiss there for a bit before he was released completely.

Slowly Don opened his eyes not sure if should feel relieved or distressed at not seeing Valcic stand before him. He half expected him to be back for more but something told him he wasn't. Looking over his shoulder he saw as Valcic made his way out, locking the bedroom door behind him.

Don could feel his body begin to shiver. His legs felt weak and rubbery. He knew what Valcic wanted from him. He just wasn't sure if could deliver.

.

Morning came. Don opened his eyes immediately becoming aware of his existence. He turned himself over from the balled up position he had woken up in, seeing Valcic had come back after all. He laid motionless, except for his breathing, on the other side of the bed. He had fallen asleep with his dressing suit still on. A faint smell of alcohol tinged the air and Don quickly assumed that Valcic had spent the night drinking.

Then something quickly grabbed his attention. Outside, through the window, he saw as thick, white flakes slowly fell from the sky. He was on his feet in no time, making his way over there, ignoring the level of coldness the floor gave off on his bare feet. He shortly acknowledged the fire going in the fireplace and the small sounds of cracking it made as it burned, as he crossed the distance. It had been a while since he had seen so much snow considering he lived in Los Angeles where it almost never snowed.

Don looked on in amusement for a while before his hand came up to the window, firmly placing it there, his fingers spread over the chilled glass. He watched as the warmth of his own hand formed condensation around it in just a matter of seconds. On that moment he thought of Charlie. He could just imagine him explain such phenomena to him, again. Something about how the water particles in the air are attracted to… something… maybe he needed explaining one more time, after all.

He felt a small ache in his heart. His other hand came to rest above it as a dose of nostalgia came over him. He missed his brother and father. He wished he could see them so much. He needed them now more than ever. He needed their guidance. He felt like he was turning the wrong corner but in reality this felt like the only thing he could do.

As the days go by he could feel the strings of his sanity come lose, waking up something inside him he never knew he had. A sickness he wished never was seeded in him.

His eyes will always see Valcic with absolute abhorrence. His body always reacted to his touch with such disgust for the man. But now he became fueled by the feeling. Don could hardly wait for the day he finally had Valcic on his knees. But those days seemed so distant. There were walls that Don needed Valcic to let down. He needed Valcic not to feel like he needed to blindfold and place bracelets on Don whenever they went out and he needed him to stop locking every door behind him. He needed that man's trust.

Don knew the only way in was by getting close. He needed to make Valcic believe he had been enchanted by him. That he had become swept off his feet by him and that he no longer fought him.

But the idea scared him – turning himself willingly into those unkind arms – it shook at the core of him. He just didn't know how he would ever swallow down the disgust to be convincing enough. Even the thought of it made his stomach do flips inside him.

He climbed on the window ledge – the space there had enough room in which to hold him – noting that it was much colder by the window as he watched the snow continued to gracefully fall just outside. Over the condensation of the clearly marked hand on the glass, between the fingers, he began to write with the tip of his index finger the letter C.

Don would do about anything to be back home again. It's all he wanted. It's all he ever hoped for, now. And as his finger continued to write out the letters H, A, R, L, I and E he daydreamt of being back home. Of being able to wrap his arms around his father and brother, again, and be able to tell them at least one more time just how much he loved them.

.

That evening, after having dined in the hall with a few other guests Valcic joined a few other men in a conversation. Don observed them from a distance, wanting to know exactly what they discussed but being unable to hear a word of it from where he sat. Most of the attention was on Valcic, Don noticed, and Valcic looked to be completely engaged on whatever was being said. Don felt safe to assume the conversation had something to do with Brown and Eller corp. but couldn't be completely sure.

Don saw as someone crossed his path of view and took a seat on the coffee table just across from where he was seated. He turned to see who it was only to see Simon Jenkins looking back at him – the man he had had a small talk with during Valcic's party.

Simon stared studiously back at him. "Is that one bruise of many or is it just that one?" He asked, briefly pointing at the bruise on Don's cheek. Valcic had done a good job at giving it to him, taking three goes at it to break skin and make it stay dark as long as it had.

Don simply nodded his head in response to Simon's question.

For some reason, Don still felt a sense of wariness around this man. He didn't trust him. Especially, because he didn't know who he was and what he did here. He pretended to care for the likes of him but didn't seem to be one. But he also didn't seem to belong with the likes of Valcic and his friends. So, his wariness for him was born.

"I knew Valcic had been invited but wasn't sure if I would see you here, too," he continued to speak even though Don had turned his attention away from him, giving him the cold shoulder. "I was glad to see you had," he confessed.

"Why?" Don asked. He felt instinctive curiosity for what Simon meant by saying such a thing.

Simon gave him a look that Don couldn't really identify. "Many of the people who come through here don't last as long as you have. You see, many of the men who indulge in these kinds of sins don't have the attention span to last a few weeks with a victim without getting bored of them," Simon said in all honesty. "They get passed down or simply disposed of."

Don gave him a horrified look.

Simon showed an apologetic expression as if regretting to have said as much.

"I'm not Valcic's first?" Don asked hiding how much such acknowledgement affected him.

"No."

Don looked down to his hands as he thought about this information. He saw Valcic's gift to him shine against the light from the lap sitting on the small table next to him. The bracelet was a perfect fit to his wrist. Not too tight but narrow enough so that Don had no chance of squeezing his hand through. He had long since stopped trying.

"What happened to the one before me?" Don asked. A part of him wanted to know but the other part didn't want to hear the answer. It frightened him but he knew it was important to know.

Simon spent a few seconds thinking if he should answer or not before finally saying. "Killed, probably," Don expected such answer. "I wouldn't worry so much about that, though."

"Why?" Don asked puzzled. This was the sort of information that was to worry over.

"You mean something else to him."

Don looked up at him with inquisitiveness. "What do you mean?"

"You've lasted much longer than any of the others he's had."

"How much longer?"

"They usually last a day, on average."

Don looked over to where Valcic sat. He was still engaged in the conversation with the other men. Don wondered what plans Valcic's had for him and how much longer he had until he would suffer the same fate as the others before him.

"I know what you're thinking, Don. I've seen that look before." Simon began studying every single one of Don's expression as they crossed his face. "You have something going on inside that brain of yours. You're thinking of running away… escaping."

Don turned his head at the mention of it, keeping silent. His expression vacant; not affirming or denying.

"It's not such a good idea to get your hopes all up like that. You'll only find disappointment."

"I have to try," Don finally said, knowing that hope was all he was running with.

"There's only one thing waiting for you out there and it's not your family or a happy ending."

Confused, Don's thoughts came to a momentary pause. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"This is older and wiser than you, Don. You step out there and the only thing waiting for you is death."

Don's brows came together at hearing that, not really believing it.

"Let's just say you make it passed their men, over their gates and make it back home," Simon said as Don listened in closely. "Do you think you'll be safe? Do you think this will all end there?"

Don's eyes diverted as he thought through all that. His heart beating a pace faster. He wanted to believe 'yes.'

"These people aren't stupid. They're not lone wolves. These men have learned to work in packs. They have each other's back at all times. They take care of each other when their secrets become threatened. And you're life isn't worth their secrets. Not your life, not your families lives, not even their own. They'll cancel each other out if that's what it takes."

"My family..?" Don asked a feel of distance in his voice as if speaking from miles away.

Death, danger… he didn't want that for his family. He gulped, his throat felt dry. He rubbed at it but it didn't seem to help.

"Yes," Simon leaned in closer to hush the conversation a bit more. "Don," Simon called out for Don but despite that Don didn't seem to respond back to him.

Don was still miles away absorbing everything that had just been said to him. He could feel the hope in him crack a little. "I don't want to stay here," Don said finally looking up at the man before him. His eyes looked pleading, broken but not completely gone.

Simon had hardened himself from such sights, no longer feeding the people like Don the comfort they looked for and strictly stuck with only giving them the reality of it. He knew the sort of danger hope came with. He had come to know that the people with the highest of hopes where usually the one with the worst of fates. Each tied in with each other just like success did with wealth.

"I know this place isn't exactly heaven on earth but you have to understand that the only way out is death," Simon said his voice had become hushed and deep. "You be careful of what you do. That man, Valcic, may like you enough to keep you around but no one else does. No one else cares about what happens to you. They only thing they see in you is a threat and they won't think twice about getting rid of that problem if they ever see you step out of line. In here or out there, they have you targeted. Now more than ever."

"What do you mean, now more than ever?" Don asked.

"This little club doesn't have an equal membership for all its members. There's a hierarchy in place and guess who just entered into the highest rank of the pack?" He asked rhetorically. "Your man, Valcic."

Don took another moment to think about this before coming out with his next question. "Who are these men?"

"They are everything that is bad in this world. Organized crime at its best. They link to every major corruption of the human existence; politician, banks, wars, the black market everything. You landed right at the den of it."

As Simon told him all about this Don began to wonder about this man. Don had yet to come up with a reason for why to trust him.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Don looked at Simon with the same wariness he had shown him at the beginning of their conversation.

Simon gave him a hard look almost as if expecting Don to come out with the punch line on his own but there wasn't anything Don could do with such information.

"Just remember," Simon began. "Escaping this won't get you exactly what you're looking for. Find freedom, Don, not pain."

Author's Notes: Thanks for sticking around! :)


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The Craftman was silent except for the slow ticking clock. Alan sat alone in the empty house. The sun was still up but he knew there were only a few hours left before night fell. He had been standing by his window hoping Don would return. Every once in a while he would see someone walk by down the sidewalk, every single time hoping it would be Don coming back home, where he belonged, but it never was.

An unbearable pain found home in his heart and an uncertainty in his gut. He half expected the phone to ring, delivering him some unimaginable news about Don and half-expected to never hear from him again. He tried to shake such thoughts away but it was never that easy. He slowed his breathing to shallow breaths in a futile attempt to suppress his emotions all while stubbornly standing by the window although his legs protested, begged, for him to take a seat.

He was beginning to feel his age. No, he felt way older, he thought. This whole experience had taken so much life out from him – a loss father time alone could not be fault for. His hands came up to meet his face to try and work some of the fatigue away. And while his thoughts plagued him, the clock's ticking echoed in the silence.

He knew he had no control. No matter how much he tried he just couldn't get a good hold on the situation. It just kept falling like ashes through his fingers but he knew he just couldn't sit by idly and wait and see the smoke keep rising from this disaster. He had an innate need to fix things, he just didn't know how.

He felt alone in his struggle. How many fathers his have had this happen to their families? How many parents can say they have had a son react like his? How many can say they relate?

Just then Alan saw as Charlie's car pulled up in to the driveway and he was quickly by the door ready to greet him.

Charlie came in with a heavy look on his face and caution in his eyes as if his own home was the last place he wanted to be. It frustrated Alan to see this but he also sympathized with his youngest knowing that this was hard, not only for himself, but for Charlie as well.

Charlie sensed something was up with his father. He gave him a sparing glance as he shut the door behind him. "Is everything okay?" He asked as his eye's searched the empty house for Don.

Alan didn't know where to begin. What if he was over reacting? He struggled for words trying to suppress the slow rising panic he'd been feeling all day.

"Dad?" Charlie probed.

"Yeah, everything's okay," he finally said. Charlie wasn't convinced.

"When was the last time you slept? Maybe you should sit down."

"No, I'm okay."

Charlie gave his father a questioning glance but just as quickly it was gone as if obliged to let the topic go. He walked over to the small table standing just a few feet from the front door to set his things down.

"It's just your brother," Alan continued.

Charlie sighed. Alan's patience shrank at the sound.

"Is he okay?" Charlie inquired as if disconnected from the whole situation.

Over the last few weeks Charlie had somehow managed to act like he had little interest for his brother's recovery and even though Alan knew this not to be true Charlie acted as if it was a chore to care. It was his defense mechanism to make distance himself. When Don had disappeared, Charlie made it his life's sole purpose to find him. He'd spend hours, days, even weeks at a time locked away in the garage coming up with any conceivable way in which to find his brother. Every chalkboard he owned was in use. Every wall had some piece of information hanging from it, useful or not, if he thought it would help it mattered little. He'd use the floor when he couldn't work on his desk any longer because of stacks and stacks of files that had piled up too high. Each and every one had some kind of link to his brother's disappearance, Charlie would reason as he shook his head when someone would try to convince him otherwise. His work would even spill into the back yard; large pieces of papers being weighed down by rocks over the grass, no matter the season. Alan had caught him in the rain looking over a large sheet of paper that held no image but pools of loose and swirling ink. He had to force his son indoors then and nurture a fever away for the following week. And when everything in the garage had become too distracting to stare at, Charlie would disappear god knows where.

Charlie had been on overdrive, Alan remembered as he thought back. He didn't rest. He didn't stop working. There had been nothing more important. This was all that was in his mind day in and day out…

…But now the job was finished. The garage had been cleared out of all his work. Nothing remained although a few faded scribbles still lingered on some of the chalkboards. All Charlie could do had been accomplished but he had yet to look up and face what had actually happened, to see the damage done with anything besides numbers. Instead of coping he had found other things to busy himself with to not spare himself the time to think about his own pain: his brother.

He had returned to school to teach and when he could he would hide away at the FBI building to keep himself from coming home. He has even taken to accept any offer thrown at him to consult, any excuse – _any_ – just to keep away.

Alan could see that all that effort to avoid Don was taking a toll on him. He was lethargic, sometimes. He was jumpy on others and always defensive and reserved.

Charlie turned around and Alan could see even through the dimness of the room the dark circles that hung from his eyes. And Alan knew where his youngest stood at the moment. Somewhere between, life and death: alive but so desperate for a good night's rest. He could also see the wrinkle between his brows. It had lingered from the months he had labored away the puzzle of Don's disappearance, become his metal, his proof that he cared… that he had once cared so much.

Charlie was still concerned for his older brother. Alan did not have to convince himself of that. He might be good at hiding away but he had never been good at hiding his feeling. He was transparent, an open book. Maybe it wasn't so clear he wanted to help, anymore, but if Alan could claim he knew his son at all he would understand that Charlie was just afraid to dive into the muckiness of the human emotion. He feared to see Don's experiences because he'd become too aware of a weakness he never knew Don to be.

But Don was not weak. If anything he has proven otherwise. But he was in trouble. Alan could feel it in his gut. Charlie just had to open his eyes and realize that.

"I just don't think he should be alone," Alan said hoping to see his son agree.

Charlie sighed once again as his hand came up to rub at his temples. "Dad, don't worry. He's not stupid. He knows how to take care of himself. If he needs us he knows we're here for him." He said trying to sound level-headed but he was anything but. He was anxious, tired and numb to the rest of his feelings. He was too exhausted to trust his own judgment and too weak of mind to place himself in the situation and understand what was happening to his family, much less react.

Charlie has tried before to push the idea that even if things could never turn back to how they were before, having Don home once again was all he needed. But whenever he would see Don he'd freezes and choke up, his stomach would cramp and the hardware in his brain would crash because somehow he would fail to align past and present Don in his head. As if they had become exclusive. And no matter how hard he tried he simply could not stop seeing him as the fragility his body displayed. And he refused to see that.

Alan ran a hand through his hair and left it there as he tugged lightly at a handful in his fist. "I just want you to talk to him, Charlie."

Charlie's eyes widened a little as if overwhelmed by the notion. "And tell him what?" he asked with a tone of mild annoyance as he turned to make his way into the kitchen.

Alan had hoped that he would never see the day again when Charlie and Don kept each other at arm's length, afraid to speak to one another but in fact that's just what was happening. He joined Charlie in the kitchen. Charlie had just put in some leftovers he had found in the fridge into the microwave and was now pushing on some buttons. His food started to spin inside the little aluminum box but he refused to turn around and instead kept his sights on his plate of food.

"He needs us," Alan declared as he watched Charlie closely.

Charlie heard this and briefly wondered if his father ever wished it was him who had been taken instead of Don. He could see how his father looked at him and he couldn't face the disappointment in his eyes. Don would at least be here, with him, every step of the way. Something he was failing so miserably at. But he has other thing to do. He does, Charlie reasons even as he recognizes that for the bullshit it is.

"Dad," Charlie protested.

"If you were around you'd see for yourself he isn't okay." Alan said and he could see Charlie shaking his head side to side as if convinced such claims were absurd. But even as he convinced himself he could not help feel there was some truth behind that statement even if he didn't want there to be.

He had done all he could. He could do no more, he was afraid to say.

Regardless, Charlie didn't need to be here to see that his brother wasn't as he pretended to be. He knew. Just like he knew when Don was up to no good when they were younger. Observation was all it took to learn the subtle hints Don thought no one noticed. Antics Don though no one remembered he would do he still did as if they actually ever really worked to begin with, like locking the bedroom door before escaping out through his window. Charlie knew it was happening but he ignored it. Never speaking a word of it to his father just like when they were younger. But things weren't as innocent now as it was then. Don wasn't escaping every night to meet a girl at the park, no. He really didn't know what Don was up to but it scared him to find out. It was Don's business. He didn't need to know. He _didn't_ need to know, right?

Charlie hesitated to turn but eventually he did. "What do you mean?" He asked for the first time letting himself show concern past the expression of his face as the tone behind those words conveyed just that.

"He's drinking," Alan began. "He hasn't gone to get help. I think he's in denial. He's not okay. Charlie, he needs us."

"He just needs space. That's why he wants his own place…"

"No, Charlie," Alan said as his voice rose above Charlie's. "He's in trouble. I just know it."

The microwave chirped and as much as Alan wanted Charlie to focus in on him and what he was saying, Charlie once again found an excuse not to. He quickly turned to retrieve his food.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow." He gave his father a sideways look, afraid to directly look at him. He took a deep breath and held if as if meaning to say something else but no words were spoken. There was an apologetic look on his face that Alan loathed to see and an un-deliberate cold shoulder was thrown Alan's way. His youngest said his brief _goodnight_ to him and exited the kitchen.

Alan stood as he was for a while. Feeling his legs protest and beg him to take a seat but he just couldn't. He knew he couldn't let himself rest until he knew his oldest son was no longer in danger from himself or anyone else. His oldest needed his help, he knew as much. He considered his possibilities only to realize he was so limited in what he could do for him. After spinning his web of ideas he came to one conclusion, he somehow needed to get into Don's head to get a clearer picture of what he was up to. That was the only way he knew he would be able to help. He needed to catch up with his son's though process because from where he stood he had no clue what could possibly be going on in that hard-headed coconut of his. And he could only think of one way to do that…

…

The building was rundown. The walls looked rotten from the inside and he could see pellets of rat poo running down the sides of the hall as he followed a short, stubby man who smelled like old cheese down a hall.

This was the place Don settled on claiming as his new home. As he and the chubby landlord walked down to his new residence the floors creaked dramatically and Don began to wonder if the old wood he was stepping on was sturdy enough to handle his and the landlord's weight.

Don had visited a few apartments that day. None fitting to his requirements and now the day had run out. He was tired of looking so this place would just have to do. It was one of the few places he could get without using proper ID. The landlord made him sign a lease for a year and went on saying, "If you leave before the year's over, leave the key on the kitchen counter… um… um… Mr. John Slater." The overweight man looked down at the lease to read the name Don had written in instead of his own.

Now, after having traveled up a few flight of stairs to the third floor of the building, stopping in front of door number 32, the chubby man stuck the aforementioned lease under his arm, just next to the pit stains on his once-white wife-beater, sticking his lit cigarette between his lips, the landlord searched his pockets for a few seconds before finally coming out with a key and stuck it in through the keyhole and turned to say to him before letting it swing open, "It's the only copy I got of this one. If you don't I'm going to have to buy a new knob and I'm not exactly made of money, ya know?" he said releasing smoke from his nostrils as he finished speaking.

"Yeah, I got it," Don said ignoring the smell of not just the cigarette smoke and the overwhelming smell of the man but of the whole building as well. "On the kitchen counter," Don reiterated reassuring his new landlord he had heard right.

He gave Don the one over. Convinced, the landlord pushed open the door and stepped to the side to let Don in.

"I'll get your electricity running in a few minutes. You've got running water and there's already a bed in there you can sleep on."

Don looked around to inspect the place. The first thing he noticed was the discoloration of the wood just a few feet from where he stood. He dismissed it, not wanting to think about it although he had some sort of idea of what it could be. Some of the wallpaper was pealing of the walls. He could see a few rat holes that needed covering. The small kitchen on the right consisted of a lopsided table and two chairs that didn't match, a small, old refrigerator the color of eggplant and a few wooden cabinets some with its door missing and one merely hanging from one of its hinges. In the living room there was a sofa and a chair with stains on it in which Don didn't want to know the stories of, a furnace, a few windows with a view to the street outside, an old TV with antennas and a drawer with a lamp sitting atop it.

"This place runs on gas so don't forget to turn it off when you're done using it. No pets. No smoking," he said reading off the lease, probably not aware of the irony behind that statement as he took another drag of his cigarette. "No parties. Your rent is due at the beginning of every month. You turn it in at my office. If I'm not there just slip it under my door. If you have to use cash, I don't advise it, come back and hand it to me personally. Kids here know how to get the envelopes from under the door once you're not looking, fucking bastards," he swore. "So, be careful about that. Try to do this on time, I don't want to come hunt you down, you hear?" He said pointing up at him with his cigarette.

Don nodded his head in agreement and he handed Don the key.

"Oh," the landlord said as he backtracked. "And don't die here. The last three tenants I had died in this apartment. Yeah," he said nodding his head after seeing the look Don had given him. "Old age, drug overdose and the last got shot opening the front door," He pointed at the stain just a few feet from Don, confirming Don's initial suspicions of it being a blood stain. "Gang related. I think this one is cursed. Number 32," he said reading the number of the door. "I hope you're not superstitious."

"I'll be fine," Don said. He had never been one to be superstitious. Besides, numbers have always been Charlie's thing, not his.

"Yeah," the landlord said before succumbing to a coughing fit. He grumbled something under his breath as he left. Don watched the short, stubby man disappear down the hall before Don finally closed the door, giving the number a studious look as he shut the door to his new apartment.

...

_Simon's eyes no longer connected with Don's but instead looked over at something beyond him. _

"_Hey, Simon, how's your bother?" Don heard someone refer to Simon from just behind him._

"_He's doing much better," Simon responded._

"_We expect to see him around soon. Did he ever tell you what happened to him?"_

"_No, he's still keeping that to himself."_

_Don felt as someone leaned on the sofa just behind him. "Someone did a really good number on him." A chuckle was followed by that statement._

_Simon didn't seem to be affected by it. His expression remained stone cold as if the subject wasn't about his brother but of a stranger._

"_I heard he broke his nose. How many times has that been, now?" The chuckling continued this time joined by others. "The day I met him he had a broken nose. Your brother's luck never changes." Simon gave him a half smile as if saying I guess so._

_There was momentary pause where nothing was said. Then there was a small push of air next to Don's ear as if someone was breathing next to it. Immediately the hairs at the back of Don's neck stood on end, reacting to the chilling presence of another man standing just behind him. Simon looked back at him with little signs of concern and Don guided himself by Simon's expression. He kept calm even though his hands had turned into fists over his laps._

"_Having fun?" Was said into his ear. The smell of mint rushed into his nostrils. The words had come to meet Don's ear like a sharp hiss and Don was beginning to see what Simon had meant when he said that he was a threat amongst the monsters here – like poisonous fruit. Don could feel this man's hate for him radiate off of him like the heat on lit gasoline. He was almost certain he would feel such hate translate itself further into his senses. He felt the energy there. This man wanted to kill. Then he felt as whoever had been behind him push away from the sofa._

_Giving Simon a brief glance, Don saw as the other gave him a small nod of his head in return as if reassuring Don had taken the right reaction to the trouble the menacing man had given him._

"_Tell your brother to call me," the voice continued this time referring back to Simon. "And tell him to watch out for glass doors." There was a burst of laughter that only got quieter as the men who had been standing behind Don walked away._

_Simon didn't seem fazed by this confrontation or bothered about the way his brother had been talked about. Don meant to ask Simon about his brother but a hand had suddenly seized him by the arm and he was pulled up to his feet. _

_Valcic's hand tightly squeezed at his bicep with such cruelty Don did not expect. Giving Valcic an once-over Don noticed as Valcic shot Simon with a dirty look. Simon looked genuinely taken aback by this._

"_Mr. Valcic," Simon greeted as he got on his feet._

"_I haven't heard from your brother in a while," Valcic simply stated, not sparing Simon a greeting in return._

"_No. He's been home bound. I'll tell him about your concern for him."_

"_No," Valcic quickly said. "I'm sure I'll see him soon," He finished saying, not waiting to hear a response from Simon as he lead Don away._

...

That afternoon, Don took a walk around his neighborhood, taking advantage of the sun's light now that it was still out to get to know his new surroundings a bit more. It was a poor neighborhood near an area filled with old warehouses and factories. He had decided not to travel that far but instead went just a few blocks down noticing that most of the building there were mostly vacant. He stopped at a small convenience shop to buy some necessities, like food and toothpaste, and munched from a bag of Fritos and sipped from a bottle of Cola on the way back to his apartment, taking a different route from before to further examine the neighborhood.

He got to thinking on the information Ian had given him. Before, he could easily pick up whenever someone was following him but it had been more than a year since he had put such skills to actual use and he was now painfully aware of just how rusty he had become. That or whoever was out there was clearly highly skilled at concealing himself in broad daylight, skilled enough to deceive him. Ian had clearly warned him but he had yet to discover anyone tailing him. It was beginning to unnerve him. Being seen without being able to see back, he could not think of a worse situation. He felt blinded, stupid, and helpless. He was at the mercy of these people. Then it dawned on him, the truth of the matter was that he was at these people's mercy but why haven't they come for him?

When he had first arrived home he had thought because his home had been swarmed with FBI agents that had kept any threat from coming after him but in retrospect no real protection had been assigned to the Eppes' home. Parallel to that realization, he had spent plenty of time outside that illusive, protective bubble alone in the streets, without anyone to cover his ass, more than a few times and yet nothing. If he had, or has, been followed as vigilantly as Ian had seemed to imply, this information could not have just simply slipped by whoever was stalking him.

In conclusion: he is alone: check! Out with no real protection: check! In this neighborhood: check! Than why was he still here?

It troubled him that he had been too preoccupied thinking of other things, like ways of keeping his family safe and figuring out how to find Paul Richards, and regrettably getting drunk, to see how oblivious he was to the obvious danger he was in. Too obvious, he circled. Things weren't adding up.

_If only I could see where they are… If only I could spot them,_ he thought as he took one last glance down his new residential street but he just didn't catch anyone looking back and he was beginning to think maybe he wasn't being followed, after all. He knew he couldn't delude himself with that thought. He kept his guard up knowing Ian wouldn't lie to him about such things.

Once back in his apartment, he put the few things he had bought away, shut the blinds and took a seat on the couch. His mind was back on whoever was out there spying on him and at that moment Don knew he had made the right move by moving away from his family. He left them knowing that the FBI would have their back if anything were to go wrong all the while dragging all the unwanted attention along with him and away from them. This brought some ease to him, though very little, some none the less.

Although he could not reason why he was still breathing, his family knew nothing and Don had kept the FBI out of the mess he has found himself in. He hoped that was the reason the monsters lurking around the shadows weren't baring their teeth just yet. After all, his was between him and them - him and Paul Richards, the new leader of Brown and Eller corp.

He knew they were coming. He hoped he knew he was as well. Nothing was going to stop him from giving them what they deserved.

.

"Is everything okay, Charlie?" Amita asked as she drove them both down to the FBI station. Amita had been called to consult on a case dealing with hackers and Charlie had offered to come along in case he was needed. Amita had hesitantly agreed. Charlie had been distracted all day, more distracted than he usually was now a days and Amita was beginning to really worry.

"Yeah," he responded without turning from the window. His tone was distant and automatic as if someone inside was now filling in for him and responding to all questions with impartial replies as if as instructed on a clipboard.

Amita wasn't buying it. She bit her lips wondering if she should press on but she was having a hard time picking out her words. Eventually, she parked the car and she had yet to figure out a way to gently break through Charlie's wall.

Amita gathered her things before letting the car door click open only to stop at realizing all Charlie had done was sit there and stare out the window.

"Charlie," she finally said and Charlie suddenly turned to her as if he had just been startled.

"Yeah," he responded.

"We're here. Let's go."

Charlie examined his surroundings for a bit as if wondering briefly where here was. Seeming to come to a pretty good idea where, he swung open his door and got out. Amita studied him as Charlie seemed to take his time examining everything around him as if engrossed in the environment that was just the simple and boring FBI parking lot. Taking inspiration on every sight his eyes landed on but finding none worth his time. His eyes jumped from one piece of cement to the next and even took the time to look up at the afternoon sky. There was even a moment that Charlie seemed to come into an epiphany but just as suddenly it was gone and his sight momentarily landed back on hers and within them she could see he was lost. He looked away when he finally decided to shut the car door not giving Amita time to react to what she had so shortly seen in his eyes.

As they walked, she stayed just behind him and took the time to focus in on him on the elevator ride up to their destined level. Something had gone on at home. She was certain of that. She was about ready to ask him about it but then the elevator chirped and the door slid open and he walked out.

He kept his distance as the afternoon progressed into the early evening. She watched him as his eyes were set on a computer screen but his thoughts where miles away. She looked down to her own screen. The computer she was working on was currently running through an algorithm to break through one of the hacker's firewalls; a process that didn't require much of her skill now that she had finished writing it and had set the algorithm to run. This freed her mind up and once able to roam around wherever her imagination could possibly lead her in this universe or the next; it wasted no time for it to find Charlie.

She was up off her chair and at first she meant to walk over to him but instead her legs insisted to B-line for the break room. As she walked in she spotted Ian leaning back up against one of the counters as he drunk from a bottle of water. He gave her a nod of his head in a silent greeting and she in return greeted him with a smile.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and picked up a second cup thinking that that one was going to be for Charlie but as she tipped the coffee pot over the rim of the paper cup she could not tip it over far enough for a drop of coffee to fall into it. She hesitated. First feeling foolish then she began to feel inadequate. What was she going to say to him? She had no idea.

She glanced back over towards him through the glass of the door, the coffee pot still in her hand. He sat just as he was before. Charlie's hand rested over the laptop computer he had propped up on the desk, his index finger immobile over the touchpad, his sight resting somewhere between the unseen horizon and his mind.

This time she turned back around with determination and poured that second cup of coffee knowing that saying something – anything – was better than watching this happen.

.

Charlie saw as Amita sat next to him and he gave her a halfhearted smile when she handed him the warm cup of coffee.

"Thanks," he said and Amita returned the smile. He took a sip from it before placing it down on the desk. "I'm almost done here," he stated. But Amita knew that if he hadn't been so distracted he, his normal self would have been done a while back. So the question begged to be asked.

"How are you doing, Charlie?" Amita began and a sort of relief poured over her now that she had found the courage to ask.

Charlie's eyebrows furrowed deeply as his inner turmoil was beginning to find surface. "I'm fine." he answered ever so quietly. His index finger found the touchpad on his laptop again and he began to move the cursor about the screen as if searching for a particular document he had misplaced. Amita watched this pained at seeing Charlie behave as such. There was unspoken anguish in him; silent, but ever so deafening to witness.

Amita's hand came to rest on Charlie's. His eyes watered as the cursor stopped moving and Amita could feel his hand shaking under hers. On that moment words had turned so limited and all Amita could do was hold his hand even tighter. He bit on his lip and turned his sight away in an attempt to keep what he could not hold inside from being seen. But there was little he could do to hold much in. There was no way. He felt like he was falling apart and he was running out of way to keep himself together. He was finding it progressively harder and harder as the days went by. He didn't think it would be so hard. He imagined things differently but they weren't. It's awkward to sit in the same room as his brother and see him, really see… he fears what he might see if he stares long enough. He can't bear it. So he doesn't see him.

"I miss him," he finally said and he could not stop that forsaken tear from rolling down his cheek.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: Many thanks to all the people who left me all those lovely reviews. I too did a happy dance. I love hearing from you guys. Good to know this story still has some readers.

Trekde, hopefully this update was fast enough cuz I tried. :D Probably not, huh?

Nessy22: Yes, yes it was. :) I always wonder how hard it is to keep up with my story cuz I know it is to some extent. When I go back and read it I go WTF! sometimes. So, yeah… It's good that at least that much was clear.

Cissyaliza: That Don, he is a difficult one, he is.

Notsing: Yeah, it was a little hard introducing Amita to this story for some reason.

Young: Why, thank you! As long as I'm not dead I'll try to keep posting. :)

Guest: I seriously feel like crap for making everyone wait that long for the last chapter. Thanks for being awesome and checking!

Chapter 12

_Don wasn't sure what that was about, but by what he could tell, there was some animosity between Simon and Valcic. Once in their own quarters Valcic sat himself in front of his laptop to work but not before having announced to him about another dinner they were invited to attend in a few hours. Valcic suggested he use something more casual than usual and then said nothing else about it. _

_Nothing else was exchanged between them. Valcic was locked in his own mind, his fingers moving across his laptop, the little clicks and clacks audible in the silence of the room._

_It had to be something very important, Don deduced. He could tell by the way Valcic's shoulders stood high and robust in pride and stiff with tension and by the way his brows stayed furrowed in deep thought. Whatever it was, it mattered to him and it mattered a lot. His concentration seemed immune to any breech to the attention he set on his work for Valcic didn't seem to notice as Don glared at him from his spot at the edge of the bed._

_Don now considered that maybe the information that Simon had given him held some validity but that in no means meant he trusted Simon. There was something about him, something in his eyes maybe, he just didn't trust. A likeness to something or someone Don could not pinpoint. But he couldn't ignore the warning and if what was said was correct and Valcic had climbed up the latter and Don now found himself prisoner of the new lord of the most powerful crooks on this earth then Don would have to tread more carefully. Plan more thoroughly._

"…you'll have to understand that the only way out is death." _He heard Simons words echo in his head._

There's gotta be another way_, Don thought. Death wasn't an option for him. Filled with nervous and anxious energy, he stood and walked over to the window. They were set on the third level and from there he could see up until where the snowy field met the dark wooden forest. He let himself massage his wrist, feeling at the smooth surface of the bracelet. He knew better than to test out its locking mechanisms, knew better than to try and pry it off there in front of Valcic but unconsciously he acknowledged it. Reminding him, despite everything Simon had said to him, that he could not let himself be a part of this world. Valcic being the dark lord of crime or not, he had to run away. He had to make his way back home. _

* * *

In hindsight using Wylie the way he did had been mistake. Now, for some reason unknown still to Don, Wylie had been murdered. He was left without source or any intellect to Paul Richards' whereabouts. He took a sip from his soda and let himself lay on his back on the sofa as he thought back to the day he had beat Wylie into promising him that he would give him any information on Paul as soon as it came in. He regretted he had been so rough but he just didn't have time to play footsies.

He jolted back up to a sitting position as soon as the idea came to him. He had remembered a waitress that day. She had served Wylie a beer as soon as he had come in not bothering to ask Wylie for his order before setting the beer down on the table, and for some reason, he clearly remembered that. She was familiar with him. She had to be. And for that reason, Don felt that she could hold some piece of useful information and if not, it was worth the effort. Quickly, he was back on his feet and out the door.

.

Don took a seat at an empty table as soon as he walked into Lobo's Bar. He surveyed the almost empty bar looking for the waitress he had seen that afternoon the last time he had been there. It didn't take long for a slender, medium height, brunette came by his table and immediately he recognized her. She wore tight jeans and a black tank-top that revealed some of her decently sized cleavage but not too much.

"What can I get you?" She asked him.

"A beer," he responded.

"'Kay," She said and Don quickly reached a hand out for her arm and lightly held her back by the elbow before she could turn around and leave. "Um," she said looking curiously back at Don. "Is there something else you need?"

"It's about Wylie," Don said. Immediately, he saw her face light up. She looked around the room before taking a seat on the chair just across of him. "Is he okay? I haven't heard from him in a while. He promised he'd come see me a weeks back but he never showed."

Don bit his lip and shook his head slowly. "No, he's dead," he hated to inform.

The blood from her face had suddenly drained and her sight had fallen to her hands where they laid on her laps. "Oh," she finally said. "I didn't know him for long. We've just been out to a few dates. I kinda, really liked him," she said as tears came to her eyes.

Don looked back at her sympathetically. He didn't know what to do, if to comfort her or just sit back where he was. He ended up doing the latter because he didn't want to give that brawly man sitting at the entrance of this establishment the excuse to kick his ass out for inappropriate behavior.

"Did you come by just to tell me that?" She suddenly turned to him with a small suspicious look in her eye.

"No," Don said. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about him."

"Why?" She asked still with that suspicious look. "Are you a cop?"

"I just want to help," he said avoiding the question.

"Figure out who killed him?"

"Yes." Don said and it wasn't a lie. "Was there anyone he'd often talk to or if you've ever seen him with someone else?"

"No, he always came by to drink alone."

Don thought about this for a moment. He was now beginning to doubt she would be able to help him at all.

"I know where he lives," she said. "Well, where he used to live," she corrected herself, once again her eyes renewing with tears.

"Where?" Don asked. This was the sort of information he had been hoping for.

She pulled a notepad from her back pocket and wrote an address on it and handed it to him.

"Thanks," Don said as he got to his feet.

"Um, I know I shouldn't ask," She began a little reluctantly. "But what happened to him?"

Don hesitated to answer but he felt he owed this poor woman as much to let her know what had happened to him. "He was trying to help an acquaintance," was all he could think of telling her.

But that had been enough for her. She nodded her head a few times letting Don know she had understood and Don knew that that's all she needed to know.

He looked down at the piece of paper she had just previously handed him before slipping it to his pocket.

As Don looked the address up on a map he discovered that Wylie's place was quite a distance from where he lived but he deduced he still had time to go back home and catch some proper Z's before heading over to the address given to him at a more appropriate time.

"Drinking, again, Eppes?" Was the first thing Don heard as he stepped out of Lobo's Bar.

"Are you still following me, Ian?" Don asked annoyed after briefly turning to see who it was. The sun was still shining light from the sky but he knew it was only a matter of time before night fell and he had the opportunity to quickly drop by the direction given to him. Though, he knew he was not going to get anything done tonight with Ian tagging along. "Don't you have better things to do?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you're running around trying to get yourself killed."

Don suddenly stopped walking to turn and finally face him. Ian had a keen intellect when it came to this sort of stuff. He had Don pretty figured out probably since the moment he had first seen him back. Don didn't really know how much Ian knew or if he knew anything at all but either way Ian seemed pretty intent to continue to bud into his business.

"Can't a man get a drink?" Don responded rhetorically.

"Not at this place, Eppes. You know you shouldn't be around here. They sniff a badge around here and shit starts hitting the fan."

Don had his hands up in the air as if completely clueless by what Ian referring to. He turned around to continue his on his business. "I'm heading home," he announced in a tone that did him no favors in hiding how pestered he felt. "And stop following me. I'm pretty sure there are people out there who actually need you."

"Keep running. I'll eventually know where you're heading." Ian avowed.

Don ignored him, pleased to see that Ian had not taken to following him back to his new lodging.

By the time he had locked the door of his apartment behind him he was feeling the wear of fatigue weighing heavily on his body. He found his way over to his bedroom and plopped himself down onto the mattress. He hadn't bothered to strip himself of any of his clothes feeling his arms really weren't up to that kind of task. He could do little to relax. His body was tense and he was afraid to allow himself to shut his eyes but he knew that fighting the sleep away would be futile. He was tired and soon whether he wanted it or not his body will force him to rest. So he let himself give in. But not before a single thought ran through his head as his eyes shut, surrendering himself to sleep: _for freedom_.

* * *

_Valcic was still hard at work when Don stepped into the bathroom and began to fill the tub up with warm water for a bath. As he waited, he stepped in front of the mirror and continued with his thoughts. _

_He thought about the snowy wooden forest, he thought of how dark it was, how well it would do if he wanted to disappear in it. It could very well be his way out, he chewed on that idea for a while. The snow, in the other hand, would work against him. The cold would kill him if he spent out there long enough. The white would make him stand out like a nail on a board. And what would he find at the end of the forest? No, he reasoned, that wouldn't work. _

_Then he thought of the sin, the lie in his lungs and on his lips not yet sung but merely whispered. He hated it. The thought of it made his skin crawl. But home was an idea that he wanted to be real again and this was a hell he wanted to vanish from. What he had to do… well, there was so little options._

_A click was heard alerting Don of someone coming in. Don turned the faucet on and ran his hands under the water pretending to wash his hands hopping beyond hope that Valcic would just walk in for a quick tinkle and leave and just let him be. But things are never that easy._

_Valcic came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Don's torso. Don had to rest his hand on the edge of the sink to support Valcic's and his own weight up as Valcic leaned, pressing his entire body against him, nuzzling his head up against Don's neck, tracing his nose up into his hair. He inhaled deeply, taking in his scent._

_Don did not react. Not a shudder nor any expression of disgust escaped him. He just shut his eyes and waited patiently for it to be over. He could feel Valcic's hands rub against his chest just over his shirt, pulling Don into him. Finger tips, digging into the small crevasses between muscles and ribs. The ones that weren't so prominent before when life was anything but a learned tolerance of torture and abuse he is forced to endure, now. _

_Valcic continued to hold him tightly, demanding acknowledgement. And as those hands refused to end their intent to grope and harass, Don gripped the edge of the sink more firmly because it was about control and he couldn't lose it. Lose his grip or lose his strength. An attribute so tested into frays and tears here, but not from him. He had to fight them and not let them blind him from his sights: home._

_Suddenly, Valcic swirled him around, making him face him, using the strength so natural to him to lift Don up to sit him on the sink counter. Valcic could almost devour him with his mere sight as he studied a fear he could still induce in those dark brown eyes though Don tried to hide it._

"_You think I haven't noticed how you look at me. I disgust you." Valcic said as he pushed Don's knees apart with his hips so he could stand between them. "I fill you with hate." He said, all the while Don half-glared at him and half-tried to avoid his malevolent stare. "Think twice about how you feel about me, Donny. Think twice about who you want to be. This here can be your life. This here can be your royalties. No one will ever harm you as long as I'm here. As long as you're here with me." He growled deeply while his hand came up to firmly grab Don by the face. _

_He stared Don down with a hungry ravenous look. Inspecting what he considered his meat, his property, his prize and his royalties. "I'm sick of talking to myself," he said his face now mere inches away. "I know you have a tongue. Say something."_

_Don felt a mixture of anger and sorrow as Valcic's fingers squeezed at his cheeks. He was sick of seeing him, sick of the bastard talking to him, sick of him touching him. But through the tightness of his throat and the rage in his chest he managed to speak. "And what do you want me to say?"_

_He didn't mean to mock or sound sarcastic but he un-deliberately did. _

_At first Valcic seemed angered but then his expression quickly changed to amusement. He released his face and both of his hands slipped down to Don's hips and he pulled him closer to himself until he could feel Don's warmth on his crotch. "Anything that's in that pretty little head of yours. Speak your mind."_

_Don's gaze fell. It wasn't a down-right refusal, Valcic could see that. It was something else. Don was in his mind and to let him was a hazard like any fire._

"_Hey," he said snapping Don back to attention. "Let's start of simple," he began. "I want to hear you say my name."_

_Don visibly swallowed, his eyes fixed square on Valcic's. "Valcic." He said with a tint of malice in his voice and _that_ emotion and the sound of his voice mixed with the utterance of his own name made Valcic's blood rush south._

_He knew Don could feel him. He could tell by the small tension-filled tremors that were now radiating from his body._

_And that look in his eyes was changing, morphing into something greater than fire – greater than anything on this earth – and Valcic wanted everything to do with it. _

_Then Don looked away. Valcic's hand was on Don's face again, suddenly, forceful, squeezing Don's cheeks, holding his head and sights where he wanted them: solely on him._

_Don grimaced in pain and moaned when Valcic's grip became tighter and then loosened._

"_You will never be anyone else's, in life, or death. You are mine." Valcic declared, his eye fueled by a drive to conquer and initiate. "I'll make you never," a pause, a growl from deep within his throat then he inhaled, "_ever _want to leave." Valcic pressed his head up against Don's. His blonde whiskers tickling and massaging the skin on Don's cheek previously abused._

_He turned to look behind him, noticing the bath tub had filled almost to the top. "Your bath is ready," he informed as he began to undo Don's shirt, beginning with the top button. Don's breathing was heavy. Valcic could feel the push of it fall against his fingers as he worked on his shirt. When he was done he slowly pushed the material apart baring a pale and perfect shoulder and smiled when Don let it slip off his arm the rest of the way. Valcic leaned to kiss it and continued his way up to Don's neglected cheek hating to leave – hating to separate – but he had to get back to work._

* * *

By the address given to him, Don could tell that Wylie had been getting paid the big bucks to do whatever all he was doing for these criminals.

He lived in a building kind of prestigious and pretentious. It stood tall, bricks white with many pillars and balconies, many with hardly any purpose besides a luxury look. One could live comfortably there, he concluded.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so bad about whether the man had met his demise, or how. The fucker had it pretty good living off the misfortunes of others. He deserved death.

Maybe that was little too harsh but after you have lived through what Don had you begin to have little sympathy for those omniscient of such crimes and do nothing. How someone can become so un-sensitized to the suffering of innocent others Don would never know. Human life was just a job for Wylie. It's much less for many people, like Paul Richards and the others like him. And there's no way to deal with these people other than like the monsters they are. They need to go down, even if it's only one by one.

The security of the high-end apartment complex wasn't high but still that didn't mean Don didn't have to get creative about how he was going to get in.

He never truly appreciated the effort thieves put in to breaking-and-entering until he found himself at the bottom of the building looking up the side to see if there was any easy way up. Under the veil of night it didn't seem impossible but still he thought better of it when an opportunity arose as he saw a couple approaching. He pretended to be on his phone as they punched in the code to unlock the door, and while they let themselves in he simply slinked on in behind them. They didn't notice and there was no harm done, he was only there to uncover a few things. That's it.

He took the stairs up to the sixth floor where he was careful not to arise suspicion when he pick-locked the door numbered 612, just as the waitress had scribbled on that piece of paper.

Inside, the apartment was darkened by the night. Don turned on a flashlight he had been carrying in his back pocket and carefully began to inspect the place. He walked by the kitchen, the living room and a bathroom. Finally ending up in what would be the office. But after a few minutes of checking drawers and bookshelves filled with comics and action figures still in its packaging, he had come up with nothing useful.

Don picked up a Batman action figure and leaned back on the desk just a ways behind him. He looked at it with fondness. It brought him back to his childhood when things were simpler. When bad and good was black and white and Batman was always the hero. And what kid didn't want to be Batman when they grew up? Well, maybe, except for Charlie who rather have been Albert Einstein or something nerdy like that.

But Don wasn't Batman and the world wasn't black and white anymore. Batman would never kill for justice and one would never, too. But then one grows up and doesn't become Batman but something lesser.

* * *

_Don shook when Valcic had gone. His whole body trembled in a way he hadn't in a while. He tried to catch up with his thoughts but the adrenaline had him panicking. He felt physically sick. His gut had taken to revolting and Don hugged himself afraid he was going to puke. He knew he would need help to overcome that feeling because his will alone wasn't enough, as his body so proved to him. He would need something stronger and he had an idea of how although it would take another line he thought he would never cross. But desperation made one do that. Desperation made you do a lot of crazy things, apparently._

_When he felt like he was ready, he undressed and led himself to the bathtub. He thought back to the dark wooden forest with a heavy feeling in his chest when considering how much of a long shot it would be to try to go home that way, and somewhere in the processes of his mind he thought maybe he should try because a frozen death was a better fate than this. But that idea was quickly wiped away with the simple remembrance of what he would be leaving behind and what he would never see again if he did. Then he looked down at his bracelet and knew there was no other option and tonight was the night to sing the song of sin._

* * *

He put the Batman action figure in its place. He was about to call it quits only until he considered checking one more time the one place that is still nagging him: the bedroom.

By some power of deduction, he led himself to the information goldmine he was looking for. Inside Wylie's bedroom he found notebooks filled with notes he didn't understand but knew held importance and Wylie's laptop. He didn't have time to examine its content properly but he did find a book bag. He packed what he could into it and slung it over his shoulder.

Then the apartment echoed back to him a noise coming from its reaches. Don stood immobile, as silent as he could, waiting to hear it again, to see if he would or if it was something from his now-ever-questionable imagination. But it did come back to him again and he could swear he did not imagine it. He switched the flashlight off, a disadvantage he did not really consider beforehand.

The noise again, and the reach was much closer this time. Whoever it was, it was approaching him. He pulled his gun out, making sure the silencer was on, and then he waited up against the wall, just around the turn from the hallway, listening in carefully as whoever was out there neared. He could hear him around the corner; breathing, drawing closer evermore. Startling him when he heard the distinct forewarning click of a revolver's hammer being dropped but Don managed to remain calm. When he thought he was close enough Don swung at him. In the dark he hardly saw him coming and whoever it was fell to the floor when Don's elbow met a face.

Then, Bang!

Don touched his side as he stumbled back a bit. His hand felt a thick warm substance soaking through his shirt. At first he didn't believe he had been shot, after all what he felt was sharp, sudden and then nothing. That _nothing _was deceiving for the slow re-awakening pain now coming from under his hand told him otherwise. And the pain was brutal. He lost thought. And he lost sense. He saw flashes of his horrific past between the darkness. He heard a motion and suddenly he feared the guy was going to get back up and hurt him even worse. But somehow, through the brief and unexpected confusion, he regained momentum.

By now, his eyes had become adjusted to the lack of light and he could see the man on the ground trying to get back up and Don didn't give him a chance as he approached him. He kicked him on the head then kicked the revolver away from his hand… the rest… the rest got lost in his memories.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It wasn't easy getting this sort of information. Charlie had persisted and persisted almost giving up once – _almost_ – but didn't.

Ian was a hard man to crack but Charlie had managed it. After spending the whole afternoon with the man Ian had folded and let him know his brother's new address.

At first, Charlie assumed Ian had come to him to inform him about something, because it was Ian who first approached the conversation, but Ian had not been sure of himself when he did. So that left Charlie a bit skeptical. What convinced him was the look he bore on his face. There had been a slight flinch to his features when Charlie had noticed him staring at him, which he could not hide with a nod and a smile. He was troubled by something and what troubled him had something to do with Don. That Charlie was certain of. After all, what business did Ian have at the FBI building that day if not to speak to someone there? And at that gesture at seeing him… it could only be Don. Charlie considered this a sign of sorts, if ever was he to believe such ridiculous things, that his brother _still _needed him.

Ian had approached him and gave a deeper bow of his brows at Charlie's red-lined lids; a clear sign of tears. Charlie had just left Amita working in the other room after having purged to her emotions he had been bottling up for too long of a time. There had been a weight that was lifted off of him and he now felt renewed with strength as if capable to hold a crumpling roman amphitheater, with the likes of the famous Colosseum, up with his bare hands.

"Where is he?" Charlie had persisted.

Ian stared just beyond the threshold of Charlie's head to look at David, his features lined with uncertainty. Charlie had followed his line of sight, spotting the FBI agent in the middle of a lecture of sort in front of a group of people, before quickly coming back with the same inquiry.

"Where is he, Ian? Is he in trouble?" Ian's expression had flinched again at the question and he looked at his feet as if considering telling him more than he had already. Which had not been much to begin with. Just that Don had been visiting places he should not – alone. That information alone had taken Charlie _forever_ to obtain, it seemed.

Charlie could tell Ian knew more than just that, way more. And as night had approached, he was half tempted to march up to that room where David was holding his meeting to drag him out here because it was clear David needed to know as well.

After a few seconds of silence, Ian had crossed his arms defensively and Charlie had had enough. He was well on his march towards David when a hand came and held him back by his arm.

"Wow. Wow. Wow. Where are you going?" Ian asked.

"If Don is in trouble, I think David would want to know, too." Charlie exasperatedly said.

"Okay, I'll give you the address but only if you promise not to go there without me."

Charlie blinked blankly at him, confused by the notion. He turned to look over at David, wondering if Ian ever had the intention of telling him but kept that to himself because that was the least of his worries at the moment. All he wanted was to know where his brother was so he can bring him back home… again. Charlie turned back and gave Ian a silent nod of his head.

"Promise!" Ian insisted, the hand on his arm now squeezing. Ian's eyes on his sharp and piercing. This set Charlie's heart pounding hard against the cavity of his chest.

"Alright, I promise."

* * *

_Valcic loved adorning him with his riches. He had swirled around and pressed Don up against the wall, just as they were heading in to their destination, as if Valcic had been struck with a sudden burst of daring energy, much to Don's surprise. Valcic dug his head into his neck like he usually would and smelled the cologne he had bought for him. Pleased, he moaned and nuzzled his nose there. "You smell good." He said as he pulled back a bit, snaking lengthy and muscular arms around Don's waist in the process._

_Don never knew what to do with his hand when they weren't used to fight his violator off. He contemplated that at that very moment. Should they rest on Valcic's biceps? That's where he remembered his past girlfriends' would rest them whenever he would hold her the way Valcic held him now. Or they would rap her much slender arms around the back of his neck in an inviting and intimate move. It seemed like either would be the right thing to do but Don could not bring himself to do it. He couldn't even make himself look Valcic in the eye. He just focused on the hems of Valcic's well pressed shirt, pushing himself towards apathy though he found it frustratingly impossible._

_And as Don concerned himself with that thought Valcic reached into his coat pocket and presented him with a gold chain. Don's eyes flickered over to it. It was of modest thickness, of cable-link design, and from it hung a medallion. It was modest, nowhere near elaborate, and for that Don was grateful because he never considered himself a necklace-wearing kind of man._

_He let Valcic slip it over his head so it could hang right between the muscles of his breasts just over his shirt. He eyed it carefully, picking the medallion up on his fingers – finally finding his hand purpose – and proceeded to examine it. It was Valcic's brand: the letter 'A' and 'V' pushed together to fit like an 'N' yet distinctly able to discern the two letters from the other._

"_Do you like it?"_

_Don nodded without looking up afraid to show how much he absolutely abhorred it._

* * *

By the time Don had made it back to his dodgy lodging he had lost a considerable amount of blood. He held on to his side in a semi-futile attempt to keep the blood from rushing out. He was out of breath, partially due to running a considerable distance back home but mostly because his lungs was trying so hard to introduce an unreasonable amount of oxygen back to his system he had avertedly lost through the wound at his side.

He had been walking for a while but finally stopped his sluggish gate just outside the building and let himself rest his free hand on his bent knee as he doubled over after an overwhelming spin had taken to disturb his sights and felt as the book-bag he had slung over his shoulder slid of his arm and land on the floor besides his feet. He took deep breaths and shut his eyes hoping to make himself well enough to make it to his apartment. After a few seconds of that he felt a bit better. He parted his hand from his side to briefly look at the damage left behind. He could not see anything past the gloss of dark wetness that covered his already dark shirt. He wanted to examine the wound further but hesitated as he carefully looked about the dimly lit street before him. He could see a street lamp flickering in the short distance and he warily glanced at the milliseconds of darkness it produced as if waiting for someone to jump at him from the clutches of the illusive night.

He was relieved when no one did and was almost as relieved when he did not see his landlord prowling the hallways as he entered the building. If he would only see his new tenant who lived at the unlucky apartment number 32 he would shit his pants and summon an exorcist to rid the place from its demons. But at this ungodly hour, in this neighborhood, what sane person would be out, including his landlord? But by the look of the red stained and streaked floor Don left at his wake, he was sure he would have the stubby, round, chimney of a man at his door wondering what the fuck was up, by morning.

He relaxed a bit when he finally reached his floor after climbing up the stairs. He would have taken the elevator only if anything in that building worked properly, but that wasn't the case. So he had been left with the misfortune to climb up a handful flights of stairs on his now weakened state.

Relief might have come too soon. The hallway to the third floor began to tunnel and blur and Don was beginning to worry that he wasn't going to be able to make it back to his apartment after all. Keeping his sights from completely blacking out was becoming downright impossible and every step exerted a considerable amount of energy from him even with the aid of the walls. And as if things could not get any worse…

"Don?"

* * *

"_You know the rules," Valcic began as he led Don by the wrist after turning both their coats in to an attendant at the door. "Don't stray."_

_Don half-listened, mostly he looked about. At the blue, and green, and yellow and purple bright LED lights that hung at all angles from the ceiling. The light emitted by them only really becoming tangible when touched by the swirls and huffs of fog like smoke that circled and circled until it just became static in the air. And at the people already there, because they were usually the most crucial information. There were about an even amount of men and women all looking above the age of consent. The men wore a more casual fashion while the women upped it a bit with short glittery dresses and bright colors. By what he could tell, this wasn't a dinner party and Don briefly wondered as Valcic led him thought the crowd what business he had here?_

_Then it became frightfully obvious._

_A man dressed in a ridiculous gold and violet silk rob with shorts and boxing gloves to match, a white flannel T-shirt and black shoes stood just before them. Valcic let go of Don's wrist to greet the man known as Paul Richards. Paul in return, took Valcic's hand and shook it with a smile on his face that made the band-aid over his nose and the horrible looking purple bruises, that painted butterfly wings from the side of his nose and under his eyes, grotesque. Then his eyes quickly flickered over to Don. Don felt his heart skip a beat and a chill run through him, but just as quickly Paul's eyes flickered away._

_The music playing in the background, though not obnoxiously loud, kept Don from hearing what both men said as they leaned their heads forward to listen to one another speak. This made Don a bit nervous and he couldn't help the fidgeting of his as his anxiety grew._

_His first thought was that Valcic had brought him here to finish what Paul had started some weeks back. His second was to run. Logic then overtook him. There was nowhere to run. He was trapped by that bracelet around his wrist. _

"_Your pet looks scared," Paul said is his eyes glittered with amusement. "Is there something wrong?" He continued with a feign air of innocence._

_Valcic approached Don and Don shuffled a few steps back but before he could go any further Valcic had caught him by the arm and had pulled him in close. Don could not suppress the shudder that escaped him as he shut his eyes tightly trying to block his mind from the memory of his last encounter with that man. _

_With his back now completely facing Paul, Valcic used his large stature to block Don from Paul's sight. "I won't let him touch you," Valcic whispered in his ear. "I promise."_

_Don looked up at the implication. He studied Valcic only to find his statement held true by the sincerity in the other's eyes. Valcic then brought his hand up, gently pushing Don's sights further up until he could place a kiss comfortably on the other's lips. Don shut his eyes afraid he was going to reject it if he didn't because although Valcic had not portrayed any insincerity he still loathed the man and with his every touch, no matter how soft against his own skin, brought a stir of revolt and disgust to his insides. _

_Valcic finally released him from his embrace though he held on to Don by the arm all the while Don failed to notice the challenging look of dominance and intimidation Valcic shot towards Paul. _

"_Welcome to my home, the both of you." Paul audibly said over the music with an insincere smile. "Let me give you a tour."_

_Valcic smiled back and gave Paul a nod of his head. With Don's arm securely in his hand, Valcic walked them where Paul led._

_The tour began just like the mood of the environment was. Music continued to waft through from every room with a speaker. Bright lights insisted on assaulting the eyes as the laser scopes flashed here and there with every gyrate of its mechanisms. Drugs were involved, the kind you smoked, the kind you snorted and the kind you shot up. There were the people who took it and the people who sold it. None of which Don gave any particular attention to._

_Paul mentioned a few things as he went along. He pointed at a particular door with and arched double-door, stating it was his home theater. He pointed to his dining room which held no promise of food. And as they approached the end of his tour he turned with a merry look on his face, his lips tightly screwed into a smile as if a kid keeping a most entertaining secret. Just behind him were two men about the same height, if not taller, as Valcic, their arms crossed and threatening._

"_Open up, boys," he commanded to which one of the men behind him pressed on a remote control he held in his hand and the wall behind him unhinged and began to slid open._

_Another one of Paul's secret room, Don noted. The dread in his stomach only grew more. With Valcic's hand still at his arm, he was forced to walk through it. The passage led through a hall that looked down on an underground arena and there was, at least, ten times the amount of people there than there was upstairs._

"_Twenty minutes until my fight begins," Paul announce as he briefly turned to face them, which explained why Paul had decided to were such a ridiculous rob._

_There was a contrasting difference between the two environments, Don thought as he continued his observations. No music played there and the air had a distinct smell of dirt, sweat and blood. There was muck and grime and questionable stains on the walls and floor and a liveliness that came from the crowd below in which with all the lights and music, the superior level just could not reciprocate as vehemently. _

_They climb their way down a long series of steps that led straight to the level below and as they moved along Don remained baffled at the enormity of the hidden space just underneath the ground, leaving him to wonder to himself how many others knew of its location and how it would be a huge bust to the credit to whoever found it._

_Once below, they walked through the crowd until they reached the ring located dead center of the wide space. Paul joined a few men standing at one corner of the octangular-shaped caged ring before them; one of the men, in which, had been dressed identical to Paul, ridiculous rob included._

"_This is Mike," Paul began introducing the men to Valcic. "Two years my trainer. And this is Don, my dog." He said with a sick smile on his face as he referred to the fighter in his identical attire previously aforementioned. "Named him after my favorite _ex-_FBI agent." Paul's eyes were once again on Don, studying him, as Don's eyes remained on the fighter who shied away from their sights. Don felt sympathetic towards him. Something about the man told him he wanted to be there just as badly as Don did. He was an attractive man, no doubt, leaving the question, how many of the bruises he wore were from fights?_

"_Promised him his freedom, as soon as he wins me the gold medal," Paul continued slapping his hand on the other's shoulder then squeezed. "Won't let me down, now are you, _Don_?"_

_The fighter shook his head._

"_Good," he said, before he turned back to Valcic. "C'mon, let me show you were royalty sits."_

_They were once again led through the crowd to a set of cement stairs that was built from the earthy ground up. The steps led towards a dark narrow hallway. "Further down are the bathrooms, this here," he said as he leaned on the first door to the right. "Is us."_

_He swung it open and quickly led himself to a counter top where he was able to pour two glasses of liquor as Valcic and Don followed him inside. He drank from one and handed the other to Valcic before he let himself plop down on a seat near the furthest wall _

"_Close the door," he said to which Valcic did. Then he walked over the glass windows that stretched across the third wall in series._

"_Sit," Paul told Don, as he stared at him from across the room, Don did not oblige._

"_Find a seat," Valcic finally spoke over his shoulder and Don had to suck up his pride and do as he was told. He took the one closest to him, which coincidentally was also the one furthest from Paul. Paul didn't protest, only looked at him from that distance, amusement and anger evident in his cheap smile._

"_Not as many bruises," Paul observed after he became exhausted from the silence he had spent obsessively staring at Don. "Is that a sign of finally breaking him into behaving like he ought to, Valcic? Did you finally have him broken like the fucking whore he is?" he laughed into his glass as he took a sip. Don assumed Paul did not welcome the silence as comfortably as Valcic did so he used it to spit vile remarks like the ones just before to keep the silence at bay. Don did his best not to let his words set in and work him into reacting, but something told him that that was exactly what Paul was trying to do. And all Don could find to do was suck his lip in between his teeth, lightly bit down on it and then found himself glancing up at Valcic._

_Valcic had turned to face them, angered by Paul's last statement but didn't outwardly express it, though he did reward Paul with a deathly glare but did nothing else._

"_No offence," Paul said as he leaned forward towards Don, finally choosing to direct his speech to him. Don's sights fell from Valcic thought he chose not to look at Paul. "We all have our roles. You're a whore, those fighters down there are dogs, we have the referees and dog keepers, pimps, the peasants," he said signaling with his hands as he glided his arms back to gesture at a figurative crowd before them then his elbows where back on his knees. "The dukes, like myself and the king, like Valcic here." He then glanced over at Valcic who kept his arms crossed over his chest, his glass of liquor untouched by his lips still in his hand, as he continued to glare at Paul with a menacing stare. "Isn't that right, your highness?" Paul hissed out bitterly._

"_You sound mad." Valcic warned._

"_How did Joel Murray die? Did you ever find out?" Paul asked, also wanting to entice a reaction out of Valcic, it seemed._

"_What are you getting at?" he admonished._

"_How convenient was it for you, his sudden and strange death in your own home."_

"_If I would have wanted him dead, that would _not_ have been how I would have done it." Valcic confessed._

"_Still, it got you where you are now, didn't it? Some would say that was premeditated."_

"_That's ridiculous. I'm not exactly where I want to be." Valcic said, finally parting sights with Paul and hopes Paul would let the conversation die there._

_Paul scoffed at the implication. "You owed me, Valcic. It was my reward after what I had asked for to begin with you failed to deliver." His eyes came back to land on Don. He looked at him not with his usual lustful and demeaning manner but a spiteful look he made no attempt at hiding._

_Don felt the vile rise in his chest. He feared Paul and yet he wouldn't mind punching his face in again. But the conversation the two men had just held at his presence had stirred something unsettling in him. Include in all his previous experiences and thoughts and the situation had become too overwhelming. The air had suddenly left the room and he felt suffocated. _

_He suddenly shot to his feet, gathering both men's attention. Don could feel his lungs beg for air but the deeper the breath he took the more his lungs wanted air and the more air they wanted the less he was able to get into his lungs properly; and so the vicious cycle continued. _

_Don cursed inwardly, from all the times this could have happened, now his body decided to have a panic attack. Now! Because that's what was happening, right?_

_Before he knew it Valcic had been standing next to him. He placed both hands on him and led him out as Paul writhed with laughter._

_They were now out in the dimly lit hallway, Don up against the wall and Valcic towering over him and Don had no recollection of when and how that had happened. "Don, are you okay?"_

_Don shook his head violently as he continued to take in deep breaths._

_Valcic rested a hand on Don's chest, just over the necklace he had given him. "Relax," he said, trying to calm him._

"_Stop." Don all but yelled pushing Valcic's hand away; he was suffocating him more than he already felt._

_There was a look of hurt that changed to anger when Valcic let the space between them grow in which Don did not know how to fix, because angering Valcic was not what he was trying to do. He regretted he had ever said that and regretted it more when he suddenly feared Valcic was going to lash out. He needed to fix the situation… he needed the bracelet off… he needed to go home… but how?_

_He couldn't answer that stupid question and that frustrated him. Everything about his situation frustrated him and he needed room to think._

_Without Valcic's hands on him or his body pushing him upright against the wall, he let himself slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his legs curled in front of him. After a few second he could feel himself calm down and suddenly he was filled with a feeling of shame._

"_I'm sorry," Don said, but wasn't sure why or to who. Wasn't even sure if Valcic had heard him._

_He felt Valcic crouch down before him and stretch an arm across so he could lean a hand on the wall just behind Don's head. "I just need some space." Don said after a few second of not wanting to acknowledge him there as close as he was to him but having to anyways, not even sure if he was going to understand, risking angering him even more._

_Valcic shifted and Don flinched, afraid again, but all Valcic did was place two hands just under Don's arms and helped him back up to his feet. "I'll give you a few minutes," Valcic said as he pointed the way to the bathroom with his eyes._

_Don nodded his head once before Paul stuck his head out announcing to them that the fight was about to begin._

_Valcic went back inside leaving Don alone in the dimly lit hallway._


End file.
